On the breeding of Direwolves, Dragons Stags and Lions (rewrite)
by Karlandra
Summary: AU: After the gods allow young Jon Snow to live through his fever Catelyn tries to do what she believes is the right thing and asks Ned to have the child legitimised, instead she learns a terrible truth. This leads to a series of divorces and questions about children's paternity which completely reshapes the landscape of Westeros.
1. Prologue: Varys

**On the breeding of Direwolves, Dragons, Falcons, Stags and Lions. (rewrite)**

AU: After the gods allow young Jon Snow to live through his fever Catelyn tries to do what she believes is the right thing and asks Ned to have the child legitimised, instead she learns a terrible truth. This leads to a series of divorces and questions about children's paternity which completely reshapes the landscape of Westeros.

~~/~~

Prologue: Varys

Letters, letters, letters… it all came down to letters. Varys could replicate over a hundred men's handwriting, and their seals. He could misinform, misdirect, and reroute troops. He ran his fingers over his various quills, Northerners used goose feathers, men from the Riverlands tended to prefer those from ducks… the Vale used goose feathers, but cut them differently, royal decrees were written with dove feathers, a hangover from the rule of Balon the Blessed, and the quill was disposed of after the use. House Wyl preferred Hawk feathers, and the Stormlanders used whatever they could get, usually chicken feathers… he selected an uncut dove feather, cut it with practiced ease and turned his attention to his ink pots. Northern ink was darkest, it was often no more than soot and gum, messy and difficult to work with. Vale ink came next, made mostly from Oak Galls, Dornish ink was like a strong black tea… Royal ink, now that was a special recipe, three recipes actually, and difficult to acquire. He rechecked the lock on his door, then carefully pulled a plain looking lockbox out of a draw, opening it with a tiny key. There were three small pots of ink in it, a deep, bluish black, an expensive rich blue, and a rare blood red. He selected two more dove feathers and cut them with practiced ease, he would burn the quills once he was done.

Next he selected a piece of parchment, one with the royal watermark, for such a valuable item the Targaryen's were rather lax in keeping it safe. Each step was meticulous, yes, time was of the essence, but one more push was needed to start this war. Push too hard, or in the wrong direction… Jon Arryn was a good man, well mostly, in truth there was no such thing as a truly good man, but Jon Arryn was better than most. He would protect his wards, he would never question why the heads of Robert and Ned were demanded, but not the heads of Stannis, Renly, and Benjen. Rhaegar would keep Lyanna safe, and the resulting child, for surely there would be a child, would be mouldable… even if there wasn't a child, there would be a child, Varys had taken precautions, as long as Rhaegar stayed in Dorne…

Hours later Varys' hands were scrubbed pink and clean, three dove feathers were no more than ash in his fire, the royal inks locked away, and a royal courier was on its way to the Vale.

Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark all acted as expected, most mean did, Tully was a little trickier… Lannister was the problem. Aerys had made a mistake making Jamie a Kingsguard, Varys suggested sending him to Dragonstone to watch over Elia and her children, Varys wanted young Aegon safe (after all, the future king was integral to his plans) unfortunately Aerys' poisoned mind did not act as expected. Varys wasn't poisoning him, the same could not necessarily be said for Archmaester Pycelle. Elia and her children were ordered back to court, Rhaella and Viserys sent to the safety of Dragonstone… Viserys was unsuitable, Varys could already see that… well, he was the spider, was he not? He would weave other plans, there was always more than one option…

Rhaegar didn't stay in Dorne, nor turn to the Dornish for aid, fool! Varys had hoped the Prince was smarter. Men often disappoint. A whore, whom had been one of Aerys' favourites, gave birth to a silver-haired boy, the babe was born too early, he was small and weak, but he might live. Sometimes the disappointment of men is useful. The silver-haired child was kept hidden, but that web was tattered and torn, so Varys turned his attention to a new web. Young Eddard Stark had proved surprising, maybe… hmm… a Stark as King? It was a thought, another strand in a different web. Illyrio wanted… did Varys care what Illyrio wanted? Yes, he did. Illyrio had saved him from the streets, taught him to survive, and flourish, despite being a mutilated boy. Stark would not do, Robert Baratheon was less moral, more mouldable, either way Rhaegar needed to loose.

More dove feathers burnt in Varys' hearth, and a royal messenger rode hard to intercept Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jonothor Darry, whom were marching reinforcements north to meet Prince Rhaegar. Varys had sympathy for the poor Prince, oh, indeed, he did, but Rhaegar had proved himself unfit to be King, and unusable as a puppet. In truth they were all unfit… Wyalla had confirmed that Lyanna was heavy with child, such a good little dove, she thought she was helping Rhaegar. If the child didn't survive? Well, Varys had a boy ready, the silver haired boy was getting stronger by the day, and was tiny, it would be simple enough to pass him off as Lyanna's in a few moons time when all was done, power resides where people believe power resides, and the spider weaves his webs.

~~/~~

No need for dove feathers now, the Dornish ink was easy to work with, he wrote on an animal hide instead of parchment, that was how the Dornish kept their secrets. The only risk was that Eddard would not notice the unfamiliar skin amongst his things until it was too late, but it had been slipped into his saddle bag by one of the stable boys. Would Ned act on the information? Or would he liberate Storms End first? Varys believed that Eddard would hold to his word, if he was smart he would free Storms End from its siege before going after his sister. If he was wise he would know to hide the child, he had to know what would happen to the bade if Robert ever learnt of it, he did know. Varys had seen the look in Eddard's eyes as the lad had stormed out of the throne room, the disgust at what had been done to Elia and her children had rolled off of the man in waves. The pain at Robert's acceptance of it was worse. Eddard Stark was a good man, and good men were predictable.

The message was simple:

**_Lyanna lives, she is in Dorne, see map below. She is with child, take only those you trust. – A friend._**

A few moons later Eddard Stark returned North, a boy that he had claimed as his own sent ahead of him. Jon Snow, the lad was named, but Varys knew the truth, the boy was Aegon Targaryen. He sent a messenger to Illyrio, it was time to weave a new web, Hoster Tully was the weak spot, he was unsure yet as to how to exploit it, but Catelyn's hatred of the innocent boy would play it's part. Wylla was at Winterfell now, and the brave little dove still kept him informed. No need to add more dove feathers to the hearth just yet.

Illyrio asked him to send Aerys' bastard boy to Essos, just in case, the request had made Varys nervous, yet he had done it all the same. The spider was still undecided as to how much he wanted to support Illyrio's plans. Unfortunately little Faegon did not survive the voyage, so sad. As Varys burnt the angry message from Illyrio, one claiming that he'd played a part in the babes death, he shivered and remembered another fire, a fire that had turned blue and spoken.

**_"_****_Blood of the dragon for a dragon's egg, but not that blood, mage, and not that egg."_**

**_Varys had been but a boy then, frozen in fear, drugged and bleeding, his severed manhood still visible in the flames. glazy eyes had moved to the egg in the mage's hand. Red, orange and yellow, it was the missing egg of Aerion Brightflame, and his only treasure, given to him by his mother. The mage had caught him with it, snatched it, claimed that he had stolen it, and taken him as payment for the 'insult'._**

**_The voice in the flame drew his attention again. "Varys, Vaerys Targaryen, blood and fire are your legacy, vengeance will be yours. Dragons will live and die by your choices, House Targaryen that is will be struck down by your hand, tooth and claw, beak and antler will claim them. Is this what you want?"_**

**_Somehow Varys found his voice. "Yes." He whispered._**

**_Suddenly the dragon egg exploded, throwing the mage against the wall. Varys didn't know how he found his feet, didn't know how he made it into the alleyway or around the corner. He was naked and bleeding, close to death, but the voice in the flames had promised him vengeance, and he wanted it so very much! Vaerys, son of Jaelys, son of Vaerion, son of Maegor, son of Aerion wanted revenge, and Varys the mummer was going to get it. Not just against House Targaryen, but against all of Westeros for stealing his birthright!_**

"I'm not Vaerys anymore." Varys whispered. "I am Varys the spider, and I am lost in a web of my own making."

~~/~~


	2. Part 1: Catelyn

Part 1: Catelyn

Catelyn inspected the shipment of food and goods that had just arrived. Ned was away at war, again, leaving her to carry out his duties as well as her own. She understood that Balon Greyjoy needed to be stopped, but how she was meant to do everything that was expected of her with three babes, two of which were still at the breast, she did not know?! _And_ he expected her to care for that bastard boy as well! Well she _wouldn't_! Old Nan could see to the sullen thing. Yes, she had insisted that the Dornish wet-nurse, Wyalla, be sent away before the boy was weened, but she had hoped that would encourage Ned to send _the bastard_ away as well, it hadn't.

Catelyn still had a nagging feeling that there was more to Wylla's presence at Winterfell than Ned's claim that he had been in Dorne when he had learnt of the boy and acquired the first wet-nurse that he could find. Part of her even wondered if Wylla was the bastard's mother, but she had watched the woman and Wylla did not behave like a woman that was trying to get into Ned's bed.

"Stranger, take the basted boy away." Catelyn whispered. She shivered against the cold, Maester Luwin said it was summer, yet there were still days when it snowed, sometimes she truly hated the North.

She rummaged through a crate of textiles, all of them sensible fabrics, oh, how she longed to make herself a new dress, something pretty, but there was no heavy brocade or silk here, there wasn't even any velvet. Once Ned returned, maybe she would ride to White Harbor and get some nice fabrics for the girls and herself. If Ned returned… hopefully he wouldn't return with another child, she wasn't sure if she could take it if he did. What if he never returned?

A large crate caught Catelyn's attention, it wasn't on any of the lists and was personally addressed to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Catelyn went in search of Lord Vayon Poole.

"Lady Catelyn." Vayon greeted her warmly. He was Winterfell's Steward and a father of five, all girls. He was one of the warmest people that Catelyn had met in the North. He was practical and fair, and never lamented not having fathered a son, his wife had breastfeed the bastard after Catelyn had insisted that the Dornish wet-nurse be sent away.

"Come, I have a question in regards to the delivery." Catelyn instructed. She led him to the crate and raised an eyebrow. "I cannot find this on the lists." She stated, leaving the question implied.

"Aye, you won't." Vayon agreed, he seemed slightly hesitant in his response.

"Well?" Catelyn asked, her eyebrow arching even further.

Vayon sighed and pried open the box. "Torrentine lemons, the sweetest there are, oranges, blood oranges… hmm, oh! They've even given us pink grapefruits and limes!" he exclaimed with a smile.

"Given?" Catelyn asked. She had always found Ned's indulgence in citrus out of character, they only grew in Dorne, and as such were expensive this far north, yet she saw them on the table more frequently than she ever had as a child growing up at Riverrun.

Vayon's expression was suddenly guarded. "Well, not _given_, of course…"

Catelyn felt that if she arched her eyebrows any further they might just fly off of her face. "How much did they cost us then?" She challenged.

Vayon looked down then looked at her. "The return of an ancestral sword and the location of Ser Arthur Dayne's body." He replied quietly. "We've never wanted for lemons since."

"_Dayne._" Catelyn muttered. It all made sense now, the wet-nurse had been Dornish… but Wylla hadn't been the bastard's mother, she'd been _sent_ by the family of the mother! "Ashara was the bastard's mother." She said quietly. She shivered, she could still remember when she had confronted Ned on that, it was the only time that he had ever scared her.

Vayon gave her a horrified look. "My Lady, of that I could not say… but even if it were true I would advise you against speaking of it."

"Of course." Catelyn muttered bitterly. "Can't have Ned scaring the cooks again. Forgive me, I am tired." She turned and walked away, leaving Vayon Poole to finish dealing with the delivery and ponder their conversation with concern.

~~/~~

The fever had taken the bastard a fortnight ago, Catelyn had been yelling at him for not listening when he had collapsed right in front of her, she had thought that he was acting up. She'd yelled at him to stand up but he hadn't responded so she'd kicked him… not that hard, or so she had thought. He still hadn't responded. She had grabbed him and tried to pull him up to his feet but the boy was limp in her hands, that was when she had realised that something was terribly wrong.

She had yelled for help but nobody had heard her, she was too pregnant to be able to carry him herself (nor did she truly wish to) so she had no choice but to leave him alone whilst she went for help. Or, at least, that was what she told herself. What was she meant to do? Sit with him and wait for somebody to come along?

The boy was in bad shape, he had a fever and Maester Luwin had said that he must have broken his two floating ribs on the right side when he fell, but she knew the terrible truth, it wasn't the fall that had broken the boy's ribs, she had kicked an unconscious boy… thank the gods that there had been no witnesses. It was guilt that had placed her at his bedside to the neglect of her own three children.

Catelyn sat by the bastard's bed and watched him sleep, the boys had only recently gotten their own rooms. _'The bastard, I have to stop calling him that.'_ She silently chided herself. But it was hard, so hard. She had begged and prayed for this child to die for seven long years, begged for this burden to be taken away from her, but when the Seven had decided to question her resolve she had realised that she did not want the selfish desire to be fulfilled. He was just a young boy, a few weeks younger than her own sweet son, how terrible of a person was she that she had prayed for a child to die?

"Stranger, please." She whispered. "Let him go, let Jon go." It was difficult to speak the child's name, in his seven years of life she had never even addressed him by it once.

"Father, forgive me, I am a selfish and unjust woman. Judge me if you must, but do not judge this boy. Please, let the boy live and I will treat him better." She lifted the damp cloth from Jon's forehead and rinsed it in a bowl of clean water, she mopped the sweat from his face, rinsed the cloth again and placed it back on his forehead. He looked so pale lying there, and the mop of black curls surrounding his head only made it look even worse. She studied his features, he had the look of a Stark, even more so than Robb did, but there was something else in the shape of his face, the grace of his movements and the tightness of his black curls… The fever had made his skin pallid, the skin stretched tight across his face and seemed fine and breakable, almost translucent. He almost looked as pale as a Targaryen… What a silly thought.

"Mother," she whispered. "Show your mercy, guide me. Let him live and I will be a mother to him, a real mother. Save him and I will beg Ned to have him naturalised… Jon Stark." She whispered, the last two words tasted bitter on her tongue but she forced herself to say them again. "Jon Stark, wake up." The boy did not respond, it was almost as if he knew that was not his name.

"Maiden, this innocent boy need you, save him, please, let Jon live. Crone, lend me your wisdom, light his way and bring him back to us, teach me how to love him."

She studied Jon again, comparing his features to those of her children. Could she really bring herself to ask Ned to have him named? He was so _obviously_ a Stark, what power would the name give him? If he ever decided to rise up and challenge Robb for Winterfell the Northern lords might just support him on looks alone. Both Robb and Sansa favoured their Tully heritage, although Sansa more so than Robb, sometimes when Catelyn looked at her son he reminded her of her baby brother, Edmure. Catelyn's mother had died on the birthing bed, causing her to be as much a mother as a sister to her little brother, she'd been acting as a mother most her life.

Of all Catelyn's children the only one that might be able to contend against Jon on looks alone was baby Arya. Arya, the poor child, Catelyn hadn't held her for over two weeks! Cat stood up slowly from her chair, her pregnancy making her movements slow and ungainly. She went to the door and asked a servant to have old Nan bring the baby girl to her.

Old Nan came, but it was the wet-nurse who held a squirming nine month old Arya. Arya was not impressed, she had stated walking at six months old, far earlier than any of the other children, and _hated_ being carried.

"Down." Arya protested. "Down, down, down, down, down! She thumped the wet-nurse's shoulder with her little fists, Catelyn gave the wet-nurse a sympathetic smile and reached out for Arya. "Mama!" Arya squealed in delight. "Mama, down!"

"I know you can walk, Arya." Catelyn said gently. "But let me carry you." She kissed Arya on the forehead and hugged her, Arya hugged her back.

"Up." Arya agreed, cuddling into her shoulder. Suddenly Arya noticed Jon lying on the bed. "Jon!" She squealed loudly, almost deafening Catelyn. Jon had been one of the first names Arya had learnt, sometimes it felt like Arya had learnt to say Jon before she'd learnt to say Mama.

Catelyn repressed the wave of jealousy and forced a smile for Old Nan and the wet-nurse, the old Crone looked like she was about to say something, but Catelyn dismissed her. "That will be all."

"If you are sure, Lady Stark." Old Nan replied, her eyes seeming to judge Catelyn.

Catelyn's expression hardened. "Yes, I'm sure." She replied, she did not speak a word to the wet-nurse, embarrassed that she could not remember the woman's name. It was only after they had gone that she realised she hadn't asked after Robb or Sansa… or the Greyjoy ward. Gods, she hated the ward almost as much as she hated the bastard… Jon, his name was Jon, and the other boy's name was Theon. Just a boy, not his fault, it wasn't right for her to hate him. Two boys, two boys without their mother, both needed her, she needed to be better. Once Jon recovered she would fix things, she would fix things with everybody. She was eight months pregnant so it was a slow waddle from the door back to the chair beside Jon's bed, especially with Arya squirming and chanting "Jon." In her ear. Arya tried to scramble to Jon as soon as she got near the bed but Catelyn held her back.

"No, Arya." Catelyn said firmly. "Jon is sick."

"Jon sick?" Arya asked, not understanding.

"Yes." Catelyn replied. "Jon needs sleep, don't wake him."

"Jon play." Arya sulked.

Catelyn sighed, was she really trying to reason with a child that hadn't even reached their first name day. "Jon sleep." Catelyn replied firmly. "Mama cuddle Arya."

Arya nodded and cuddled into her, she patted Catelyn's tummy. "Baby." She whispered.

Catelyn smiled. "Yes, baby."

"Baby sleep?" Arya asked.

"Yes." Catelyn agreed. They had explained pregnancy to the children as a little baby sleeping and growing safely inside of it's mama, once the baby was big and strong enough it would wake up and be born.

"Baby play?" Arya asked.

"Soon." Catelyn replied. "Arya cuddle?"

Arya nodded. "Cuddle." Arya agreed. Arya snuggled in and soon drifted off to sleep.

~~/~~

Catelyn shifted Arya awkwardly in her arms, the child never stayed still, even in sleep, and Catelyn couldn't hold her anymore. Reluctantly Catelyn placed her down on the bed, she intended to readjust and pick Arya back up but the moment Catelyn put Arya down beside Jon the babe curled into him and was calm. Catelyn watched with amazement as the nine month old girl cuddled up beside the sick boy. Arya placed her chubby little hand on Jon's shoulder and his features seemed to soften, his breathing instantly becoming easier. Catelyn felt a small smile start to pull at her lips as she watched them both sleep.

"Gods be good." She muttered. There was no argument that the children were related, Jon's hair was darker and Arya's hair was straight, not curly, but the resemblance was there.

"Jon," Catelyn whispered quietly, but the boy gave no response. "Jon, this is your sister, Arya, she will love you as fiercely as any sister can, but you have to wake up."

Still nothing from the dying boy, he could not die, if he did his death would be her shame. Catelyn returned to her prayers. "Warrior," She whispered. "Place your strength and your courage into this brave child." She looked at Jon and stroked Arya's hair, she never really knew what to say to the Warrior, or the Smith. "Smith… some say that life is the chain that links the body to the soul, re-forge the damaged links, strengthen his body and give him back to us… save him. Stranger, please, this one is not to walk with you today. Give Jon back to us, keep on walking."

Catelyn sighed, she was at a loss at what to do and she had run out of words, she decided instead to watch Jon and Arya sleep. The peace was broken by Ned Stark and Maester Luwin bursting through the door.

"Catelyn, what are you doing?!" Ned demanded.

"You can't have the baby in here, Catelyn." Maester Luwin said more patiently. "If she catches whatever Jon has it could kill her."

Ned however had come to a stop as soon as he saw the sight on the bed. "By the Heart Tree..." He whispered.

"He needs her." Catelyn said quietly. "As soon as she touched him his breathing improved, he'll wake up, but he needs her."

Maester Luwin frowned. "Well there is no point taking her away from him now, whatever damage might be done has already happened. You are right, he does seem to be breathing better, let me take a closer look."

As Masester Luwin moved around the other side of the bed and took a closer look at the boy Ned moved around to behind Catelyn's chair and put his hands on her shoulders. "Thank you." He whispered. "I know you don't love him but…"

"I'll learn." Catelyn said quietly. "I'll learn to love him." She wanted to believe her own words, she truly did.

Ned dropped a kiss on her head. "Thank you." He whispered again. Oh gods, if he only knew the truth!

Catelyn felt a small pain, a quickening of her womb, and moved her hand to her pregnant belly. She did not mention it to Ned or Maester Luwin, they were already concerned enough that she had insisted on tending to Jon even though she was pregnant, and after three children she now knew what to expect. She would get these little pains on and off for the next three or four weeks and then the baby would be born. Maester Luwin had taught her that these pains were a good thing, they meant a quick labour, and a quicker labour meant less risk for her or the child, so far he had been correct.

~~/~~

Catelyn hated the Crypts, but that was where Ser Rodrick had said Ned had gone. Jon had been awake for a week, and he was getting stronger, but it had taken until last night for her to find the courage to ask Ned to have him legitimised. Ned had not responded how she had expected and it had led to an argument. He wouldn't even discuss the matter, instead becoming as hard and unyielding as he was whenever questions were asked about Jon's mother. He had missed breakfast and she hadn't seen him since.

Catelyn shivered as she slowly made her way down the stone steps with a lantern in one hand and he skirt hitched in her other. Although it was only mid-afternoon it might as well have been midnight, or the heart of winter, for all of the help the lantern gave her. a sharp pain caused her to stop and catch her breath, they were getting worse, but they were not labour pains, she was confident that she still had another week or two before that would happen.

As Catelyn passed the stone statues of ancient kings, and their direwolves, she became less and less certain of her decision to confront Ned. She shouldn't have come down here, or at least she should have brought somebody with her, but then, she wouldn't get an honest answer if she didn't come alone. Still, the steps would have been difficult enough even if she hadn't been heavy with child, she was sweating and short of breath despite the chill of the crypts. Another pain caused her to pause but she dismissed it.

Catelyn did not feel welcomed here, the stone kings did not give guest right, they sat on their stone thrones with iron swords unsheathed upon their laps as if they were going to leap up and strike her down at any moment. The oldest statues no longer held swords, they had rusted away over the centuries, but the rust stains still lingered where the swords had once been. Mikken would have liked to forge new swords for the old Kings of Winter, but Ned had told him to leave them be.

The shifting shadows made it seem as if the direwolves were moving, their heads turning to watch Catelyn as she passed. It was only once you got to Torrhen Stark that the statues changed. The king who knelt had no throne and no direwolf to guard his tomb, his statue stood and held its iron longsword in both hands. The last king, the first warden, he stood like a solder awaiting orders. Torrhen did not deny guest right, nor did he need to, one had already been denied many times before they reached his tomb… anybody bold enough to reach Torrhen was welcomed to stay. Catelyn shivered.

Every statue held (or had held) a sword, every statue but one, Lyanna Stark, the only female to be granted a statue in this hall of kings in eight thousand years. Catelyn remembered the stir that it had caused when Ned had ordered the statue be made. One Lord had even been so bold as to demand what she was the queen of to warrant such an act. "Love and beauty." had been Ned's stoic reply. Nobody could argue with that.

Catelyn had once told Ned she did not want to be buried here, he'd laughed and told her she was going to outlive him so she better talk to Robb about it when he got older. She moved as softly as she could, trying not to disturb old ghosts, but Ned surely must have still heard her coming. He stood in front of his sister's statue, Lyanna's hand seemed to be reaching out to him, beseeching him. The wetness of fallen tears simmered on his face from the light of the candles burning at the statues base. Ned had placed a freshly picked blue rose in the palm of her hand.

Catelyn stopped in front to Brandon's statue, and placed the lantern at her once-betrothed's feet, the statue did not do him justice. She looked at the tomb of the wild wolf, the man she should have married, and waited. She knew it would be better to let Ned break the silence. After a while he spoke.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, she looked towards him and saw that his face was downcast. "I was unkind to you last night. I know your intentions are good, but Jon can never be named a Stark."

"Why?" Catelyn whispered nervously. She took a couple of steps towards him. This was her husband, she may not have felt the passion for him that she had felt for Brandon, but he was gentle and kind, and she did love him. That was why she was down here, she was trying to accept Jon, but Ned wasn't making it easy. "He is your son, why can he not be named a Stark?"

"Jon is not my son." Ned answered quietly.

Catelyn's confusion turned to anger. "What?!" She raged. "Seven years! Seven long years you've let me believe you broke our marriage vows, you shamed me, brought dishonour on yourself, and now you tell me it was all for a lie!"

"Yes." Ned replied quietly.

Gods, he had that look in his eyes again, nothing good ever came of that look! That was the look he had worn when he had presented Jon to her and told her the babe was staying, the look he had worn when he had returned from another war with yet another child, Theon Greyjoy. Well she wasn't having it this time, if the man wanted to adopt an army of sons he could, but he would not pass one off as his bastard when it wasn't true. He may be the Lord of Winterfell but he had gone too far!

Catelyn took a couple of angry steps towards him and struck him, he stood there and wordlessly took the blow. She considered striking him again but she doubted that she would get away with it a second time, even as heavily pregnant as she was. "Once he is well you will send him away." She demanded coldly.

"No." Ned did not yell, his voice was cold and calm, his eyes like steel. "Jon _is_ my blood, he stays."

Confused, she took a number of steps backwards and he allowed her the space, she was almost in front of Brandon's tomb again. She looked back at the statue and wondered for a moment if Jon could be Brandon's? But no, the boy was too young by at least half a year. Benjen's? She struggled for answers but the only place she was going to get them from was the quiet wolf. Ned watched her as she tried to decided, she suddenly felt like prey in that cold gaze. She gathered her courage and retook the ground that she had lost. They were both standing in front of Lyanna's tomb now.

"Whose son is he then?"

Ned closed his eyes, the memory causing him pain. "The answer to that question could cost you your life." He whispered. "The answer to that question is why Benjen took the black." His voice was full of grief.

"Who did Benjen dishonour?" Catelyn asked. "Gods, he was only a boy himself!"

"Jon is not Benjen's." Ned whispered quietly.

"Then whose?!" Catelyn demanded.

Ned raised his head and looked her in the eye, meeting her challenge. "You're standing in front of Jon's mother."

The answer took all of the wind out of her, she turned and looked towards the statue, in life she had never met Lyanna Stark, and Ned would not talk about her, Catelyn only knew what people said in hushed voices.

"Ned," She pleaded. "What are you telling me?"

"I am telling you that Jon is my blood and he is staying, but he can never be named a Stark… he already has a name, although to use it would be his death, and mine."

"W-what is his name?" Catelyn asked with a shaky voice.

Ned studied her for a few moments. "Promise me on your honour that you will never repeat this, not even to Jon himself, he cannot know."

"Ned…?"

"Promise me, Cat, swear it, by the old gods and the new, on Brandon's grave or our children, on whatever you need to swear it by." Catelyn took a couple of steps backwards but he stepped forwards in response. "If you want me to answer this question I must have your vow that you will keep his name secret, no matter the cost."

"I swear," She said quietly. "In the name of the seven, and on my own life." She stood her ground and stood tall, she was the daughter of Hoster Tully, whatever the truth she could handle it. "Whatever this terrible secret is, tell me, and I will keep it. Tell me Jon's real name."

"Aegon Targaryen." Ned replied quietly, his eyes gave away nothing.

"No," Catelyn shook her head and took a step backwards. "No, he can't be. Elia…"

"Rhaegar had the marriage annulled and married Lyanna, she told me on her death bed… on Jon's birthing bed."

Catelyn took another step backwards. "No." She whispered again. She had been wrong, she could not handle the truth. She didn't want to hear anymore, but it seemed that after over seven years of silence the damn was broken, Ned wouldn't stop, he told her everything. She kept backing up and shaking her head but he wouldn't stop talking, he told her everything that had happened at the Tower of Joy, then he told her what had happened at King's Landing beforehand. Of the brutality with which Elia and her children had been murdered, of the way the baby's skull had been caved in and the hundreds of stab wounds on the little girl's body, and of Robert's reaction… and then he offered her a divorce…

That was when her waters broke and the first real contraction hit. There was no way to get her up the stairs and Ned would have needed to leave her alone to go for help… as she had left Jon. The irony of the situation was not lost on her. But Ned did not leave her, instead he held her until the contraction had passed, once it was over he carefully led her back to Lyanna's tomb, the candles offering more light. He removed his fur cloak and laid it down on the ground for her.

He sat beside her and rubbed her back between contractions, they were close and fast, and Catelyn soon realised that she should have paid more attention to the earlier pains. She had been a fool to come down here… if she hadn't confronted Ned in front of his sister's tomb maybe he would have kept his secrets? Now that she knew the truth she wished she had never asked.

Ned continued to rub her back between contractions and asked what he could do to help, as another contraction hit she realised this was the Seven's answer… Ned had offered her a divorce and then she had gone into labour, once this child was born there was nothing keeping her here. She ignored Ned and focused on Brandon's statue as she rode the waves of pain.

"If it's a boy I want you to name him Brandon." She said quietly. "Brandon could have fathered a hundred bastards and I wouldn't have cared, he wouldn't have brought shame on me as you have."

Ned swallowed thickly but didn't respond to the insult. "And if it's a girl?" Was his only reply.

"Anything but Lyanna." She knew the comment was spiteful but she didn't care.

Less than two hours later she was holding the baby boy in her arms. It took four men to get her up the stairs, she tried not to look at the boy too closely, or to get attached, as her decision had already been made. She refused to feed the child, instead passing it off to the wet nurse.

"Ned," she said quietly once it was just him and her alone in her room. "Once I am well enough to travel I would like to go home."

Ned nodded sadly. "And the children?"

She looked at him surprised, it was not a question that she had expected him to asked. "I assumed that they would stay here." She said quietly.

Ned nodded thoughtfully. "Catelyn, they are your children as much as they are mine, Winterfell is their home, but I will never keep them from you. You are welcome to come back any time you wish and we can work out a way for them each to spend some time at Riverrun as they grow older."

Catelyn nodded slowly. "I – I think that would be a bad idea." She said quietly. "I am still young enough to find another husband…"

Ned nodded sadly. "I will let you rest." He said quietly.

~~/~~


	3. Part 2: Jon Arryn

Part 2: Jon Arryn

"A divorce!" Lysa Arryn exclaimed. "My dutiful sister is getting a _divorce_?!"

Jon Arryn nodded sadly. He watched the once beautiful, auburn-haired, woman as she suckled their young son and waited for her reaction to the news. Lysa's reactions were often unpredictable and her many miscarriages and still births had eaten away at her mind. He tried to be a good husband, but he did not love her. She did not love him either, not that he could blame her. Jon was easily old enough to be Lysa's great grandfather, in his youth he had been handsome, tall and broad-shouldered with sandy-blonde hair and strong features. But he had seen too many wars, lost too many teeth, and buried too many wives by the time that he had married Lysa.

He was a man with no heirs, and she a girl dishonoured but proven to be fertile, the match had been political and hastily made, and he had regretted it ever since, the only joyful thing about his wedding day was that it was something he had shared with young Ned Stark. Even now Jon could clearly remember Ned nervously standing beside him at the Sept, awaiting to marry a woman that he had never met. Most men would be worried about what she looked like, but not Ned, he was only worried that he would be a disappointment in comparison with his more handsome, and more outgoing, older brother. Ned had never lain with a woman and was scared shitless about the bedding ceremony.

"I don't want a bedding." Ned had whispered quietly.

"Ned," Jon had sighed. "You understand why it's important?"

"Yes." Ned had agreed. "But I don't want one… what if I can't… what if I…" Ned had looked up at him pleadingly. "I don't want a bedding." He had whispered to Jon. He had gained some confidence in the 8yrs that Jon had known him, mostly thanks to Robert, but in many ways Ned was still a shy young boy, war had not changed that. Jon had put a sympathetic hand on Ned's shoulder, but before he could respond the brides had arrived. Fortunately Ned had clearly worked out what to do, resulting in Robb, and gotten some practice during the war somewhere else, resulting in Jon Snow…

Jon Arryn himself had almost given up on fathering a true born heir by the time that Lysa had brought a black-haired infant squawking into the world. Jon cared for the child, yet something about the squish-faced infant irked him. Questions nagged at his mind that he did not wish to confront, questions that he was unsure how to even approach.

Eventually young Robert finished feeding and Lysa placed him in his crib, bringing Jon's attention back from his wandering thoughts. "My poor sister." She muttered. "My poor, poor sister." She shook her head.

"Divorces _do_ happen." Jon Arryn replied carefully. "Not _often_, but they do happen. Doran Martell divorced Mellario not so long ago."

Lysa glared at him. "I don't care what the _Dornish Prince _and his _Lysian whore_ did!" She hissed quietly, had the baby not been asleep she would have likely yelled it. "Their marriage wasn't political, Ned Stark married my sister for an army, just as you married me for an army… now neither of you need our father anymore…" She gave him an accusing look. "My poor sister, my poor, poor sister."

There was no point arguing with her, Jon sighed. "Do you wish to go to her?" He asked quietly. Lysa had always been jealous of Catelyn, he knew that, but Catelyn was still Lysa's sister, whatever was going on, Catelyn would need the support of her family, Jon just hopped that this divorce didn't result in a war. Hoster Tully's grandson would one day be Lord of Winterfell, but would that be enough? Better that the woman had died in childbirth than live to divorce! Lysa didn't respond so he repeated the question. "Lysa, do you wish to go back to Riverrun, to be with your family, and comfort your sister?"

"I…" Lysa replied uncertainly, she looked towards the sleeping babe.

"I can get a wet nurse." Jon replied calmly, in truth he had already arranged one. "Getting out of King's Landing might do you some good, you may go to your sister if you wish."

In the blink of an eye uncertain Lysa was replaced with spiteful Lysa. "And if I don't come back?"

He gave her a sad smile. "Tell me what you want, Lysa, tell me what will make you happy."

Lysa looked at the crib and then at Jon Arryn, he watched as fear, uncertainty, anger and then hatred washed over her face, she looked back at the baby again and he thought he saw a spark of love but she quickly pushed it down. Then a new look came into her eyes, one that he had never seen her wear before, courage. "I want a divorce." She said quietly.

Jon Arryn gave her a sad smile. "Go to your sister." He said quietly. "Talk with her, and with your father, spend some time in your childhood home. If you still want a divorce in three moons time I will give it to you."

"And my sweet Robin?" She asked uncertainly.

Jon was not fond of the nickname. "_Robert_ is my heir," He said calmly, although he had doubts as to the truth of that statement, now was not the time to address such matters. "You may visit him as often as you wish, but you may not take him with you."

"I'll leave in the morning." Lysa said quietly, her gaze never leaving the crib.

Jon Arryn did not trust her, if allowed she would steal his heir away and leave in the dead of night. He shook his head. "Your sister needs you." He said kindly. "Your family needs you, it is your duty to go to them and it would be dishonourable of me to stand in your way." He knew it was low of him to turn her family's words against her but what choice did he have? "I've already made arrangements, you may leave as soon as you are ready."

She gave him a horrified look. "You want me gone, don't you! You've already found wife number four! Tell me, who's my replacement? Tell me!"

Her yelling caused the baby to wake up and start crying, she moved towards the crib but he stepped in her way. "Go pack." He said coldly. Lysa burst into tears and fled the room, Jon Arryn sighed and picked up the crying babe. Either way he knew he would pay dearly for this, but he was more worried about Ned than about himself. A divorce… something was very, very wrong. He needed to clear his head, he cradled the still crying child and started making his way out of the Tower of the Hand… he didn't know what lead him to the godswood, but as he stood in front of the old oak and looked at its carved face he felt a sense of peace. He wasn't sure exactly when the baby had stopped crying.

Jon Arryn had been born and anointed in the light of the Seven, and was the line of the Andals, whom had brought the true faith to the savage First Men of Westeros long ago. He knew the Seven Pointed Star word and verse, he was not a religious man, but if he believed in any god it was the one with Seven faces. Yet he understood the appeal of the Northerners gods, it was a gentler faith, kinder, more in tune with nature. Who could truly argue with the sentiment of it?

"Look after Ned." He whispered to the heart tree. "I don't know if you are real, but if you are the quiet wolf needs you now more than ever."

"And so do his pups." A gruff voice said from behind him, King Robert Baratheon.

Jon Arryn turned slowly. "Your grace."

Robert growled. "You can cut that crap when we're alone old man." He frowned. "So it's true, huh? Ned's getting a divorce?" Jon nodded. "And Lysa?"

"Asked for one," Jon said quietly. "I told her if she still wants one in three moons I'll give it to her."

Robert scoffed. "What did she take worse, that you would grant her a divorce or that you would make her wait three moons for it?"

Jon shrugged, careful of the now quiet baby in his arms. "Who can tell with her?" He said with a sad smile.

"Be rid of the woman, be rid of her and be done with it." Robert declared.

Jon shook his head. "I'd rather not anger Hoster Tully if I don't have to… or the Blackfish, he does guard my gate after all. Hoster will tell her to return, there will be no divorce." He said confidently.

Robert shook his head. "Maybe if I'm lucky Cersei will ask me for a divorce as well?"

Jon shook his head. "Even if she did, her father would simply march her straight back here, and you are too far indebted to the lion to risk angering him."

"So what can I do?" Robert asked. The question seemed genuine.

Jon looked at him and sighed. "You know the answer, we need to start counting coppers. We need to stop spending so much, cut the tournaments, pull back on the feasts and your own spending, start paying back what we owe him. When the debt is clear, then, _maybe_, you might be able to get a divorce."

Robert growled at him. "Is that how you talk to your king?" He asked.

"No." Jon Arryn replied calmly. "That is how I talk to a man I love like a son. You're getting fat, Robert, and your purse is getting thin."

Robert sighed. "You're right, but I'm not the one that needs a father right now." He shook his head, for all his bluster and boldness in some ways he was still the angry young man that had watched his parents drown. He sighed. "Gods, poor Ned… I…" Robert looked down. The man was stubborn and proud, he often seemed selfish, but the sad truth was that he was insecure. He doubted his own ability as King, which was why he leaned so heavily on Jon Arryn. He seemed to debate with himself internally before speaking again.

"I know you need to go to him… and I know I haven't been to many small council meetings lately…" He seemed almost like a scolded boy, yet Jon had done no scolding, if anything he was guilty of being too soft on the man.

Jon Arryn sighed. "Two weeks." He said quietly. "Come to every small council meeting… I'll wait two weeks before I go… but I want to go for a while. It is far too long since I have returned to the Vale and if Lysa does return…" He looked at Robert sadly, his kindness wasn't helping the younger man. "I want to step down as Hand of the King." He said quietly.

Robert looked at him in horror. "Resign? Take a break, yes, but resign? The kingdom would fall apart!"

Jon shook his head. "No, it wouldn't." He said calmly. "Elevate Stannis to Hand… make Lord Swann Master of Ships... If he declines ask him to suggest a brother or cousin. You need people from the Stormlands around you… not people from the Vale, and most certainly not Lannister's."

"Stannis." Robert muttered, he almost spat the name. Robert had never forgiven Stannis for not crying or yelling at watching their parent's die. Robert himself had yelled and screamed and cried and cursed until he was horse. He'd beaten his fists bloody until somebody had stopped him. His hands had still been scabby and raw the day he had returned to the Vale, his grief worn around him like a cloak. Jon Arryn had feared that he would never pull the young man out of his melancholy. Luckily Ned had been able to be the brother to Robert that Stannis couldn't be and had helped him grieve. Unfortunately part of that grieving process had led to Robert fathering a bastard, Mya Stone, on one of Yohn Royce's serving girls, but Jon couldn't begrudge a man seeking comfort.

If only Lord Rickard Stark hadn't insisted that they wait until Lyanna was sixteen to marry things might have been so different. Robert wasn't a bad man, he had only turned to whoring because he needed the comfort, if only he'd wedded Lyanna sooner. Jon regretted not encouraging Robert to push the matter.

"Yes, Stannis." Jon said quietly. "Let me go back to the Vale, Robert, let me get my house back in order. I can take Joffrey as a ward when he is older… before you announce your intent to put Cersei aside."

"You'll help me get the lions out of my life then?" Robert asked hopefully.

"Get them out of your pockets first, and out of your court." Jon replied calmly. "You should visit Storms End within the year as well, don't take Cersei with you, return with a suitable retinue for your heir before he is raised as a Lannister."

Robert nodded. "If you're going to help me remove the lions you will need to come back." He pleaded.

Jon nodded. "In time, I won't come back to the Red Keep though… when I do return to King's Landing I'll purchase my own residence."

"Jon." Robb sighed.

"You don't need me, you can do this, Robert, if I didn't believe that I would never have put you on the throne." He balanced baby Robert in one arm and gave King Robert an awkward hug with the other.

Robert frowned down at the child as he pulled away from the hug. "He doesn't look much like you, does he?" Robert muttered. "I wonder where the dark hair came from?"

"Joffrey doesn't look much like you, either, not like Mya does." Jon replied lightly. The comment was made in jest, but later he would think heavily on it.

Robert nodded. "When you're in the Vale…" He let his words trail off. Jon could see the sadness in Robert's eyes, he did love his first-born daughter, but he dared not bring her to court, Cersei had all but promised that the girl would suffer an accident if he did. That had been the point at which Jon had realised what a mistake it had been to push Robert to marry Cersei… maybe if he had allowed Robert time to grieve Lyanna first things would have been different? Long life was a curse, the longer you lived, the longer your list of regrets.

"I'll check in on her." Jon Arryn reassured.

"Thank you." Robert said quietly. "Maybe in time…" Greif contorted his face and closed his throat.

Jon placed his free hand on Robert's shoulder. "Maybe." He replied. "Once you've freed yourself from the lions."

"You bloody chained me to them." Robert muttered.

"Yes," Jon agreed. "It was what was needed at the time, but now we need to remove their teeth and claws."

"Tell Ned to get Balon to start harrying them." Robert muttered.

Jon swallowed thickly, that was a dangerous choice. "Is that a royal command, your grace?" He asked quietly.

"Not officially." Robert replied. "Officially we never had this conversation."

Jon relaxed a little and allowed himself a small smile. "See, I told you that you don't need me." He muttered.

"I'll always need you." Robert muttered back.

"Robert," Jon sighed. "I'm seventy-two years old, I won't always be here."

Robert shook his head. "Don't talk like that, old man, I don't want to hear it."

~~/~~

Jon Arryn had been at Winterfell for two weeks and he was worried about Ned, the quiet wolf had become even quieter. Ned had welcomed Jon Arryn's arrival warmly enough, but Ned completely refused to discuss Catelyn or the divorce.

"There is nothing to discuss." Ned had told him quietly but firmly.

Jon Arryn knew Ned well enough to know that when he refused to discuss a matter that was the end of the conversation. Jon warned Ned that there would soon be a lot of pressure on him to take another wife, but Ned claimed that he would never remarry. Jon sympathised, he had felt much the same after the death of his first wife, Rowena , but he cautioned Ned against publicly declaring it and pointed out that 'never' was a very long time. Ned did not need to make any decisions straight away and his vassals needed the hope of a possible political gain through marriage.

Ned had always been quiet, even shy, when he was younger. His grey eyes seemed to take in everything, but his words gave away little of his insecurities. He still had that slow smile, but two wars had made him seem as hard as the lands he ruled. The exception was with his children. Ned had a sweet, kind heart, he'd built stone walls around it over time but it was still there.

When Jon passed on Robert's instructions for Balon Greyjoy, and the reasons behind it, Ned was firmly against the idea. Ned felt that such a thing was not only dishonourable, but would weaken their position with the Ironborn, and would lead to other attacks.

They discussed recent events, Ned telling him of the troubles on Bear Island and how Jorah Mormont had forced his people into such levels of poverty that they had poached out of desperation, to add insult to injury Jorah had then sold his own starving people into slavery for trying to feed themselves. The craven and his pretty young wife had run, leaving his aunt to pick up the pieces.

Ned feared that encouraging the Ironborn to raid would have negative repercussions on the struggling people of Bear Island. Jon offered to send the Island aid (in the form of food, ships, and fighters) to help compensate. The Vale had been having good harvests the last few years so he could spare it. Ned was thankful, but reluctant to accept on Bear Island's behalf, stating that they were a proud people.

Since Arya's first name day was fast approaching Jon suggested that Ned host a large feast and ensure that Lady Mormont was strongly encouraged to attend, if she did come then Ned could discuss Jon's offer with her then. Ned nearly choked when Jon referred to the She-Bear as a lady and the next two hours were spent on Ned educating Jon about Bear Island. Jon had heard some stories in his time, but he'd never heard anything as outlandish as the founding and history of Bear Island.

The idea that a King could win or lose an Island in a wrestling match made Jon wonder what King Rodrick Stark had betted, although he suspected a piece of land or a daughter's hand were the most likely wagers. He held a lot of respect for the old First Men ways, long gone were the days when a war could be won or lost on a battle of two champions, and far older were the days when a King had the nerve and ability to be that champion. Oh, Robert would try to stand up and do it, but years of drinking and whoring had not treated him well…

~~/~~

Ned had asked Jon to stay until after Arya's name day and Jon was more than overjoyed to do so, in some ways he considered Ned's children as grandchildren and Jon was happy to get to know them. He was intrigued to observe that Robb was very protective of Jon Snow, and greatly saddened when Ned explained the reasons why. Cat's treatment of Jon may, or may not, have been the cause of the divorce, but it had clearly contributed. It wasn't like Jon Snow was the first ever Bastard of House Stark to be raised at Winterfell, either, Lonnel Snow had done much to help his legitimate family protect the North from the Ironborn. And Brandon Snow, half-brother of King Torrhen, had been the one to negotiate peace with Aegon the Conquer, on his brother's behalf.

Jon Arryn watched Robb and Jon interact and compared the two boys. Robb's hair was a dark chestnut, with the look of one whom might grow a red beard when he was older. His face was rounder than Jon's, you could see the Stark in him, but not as loudly as in Jon. Robb had the Stark shoulders though, in that respect Jon was a narrow slip of a boy. Despite Robb being taller the two boys looked so close in age that some whispered that Jon might actually be older, but Ned was firm that Robb was older than Jon, all be it by a matter of weeks. The two were closer than brothers, behaving much like twins. Robb was the bold one, but Jon seemed to think things through more.

Jon Arryn's thoughts shifted to Sansa. She was beautiful, but angry, she had striking red hair and even at two years old it was clear that she would take after her mother in looks. The toddler could not understand why her mother had left and nobody could comfort her on the matter. She had a Stark's temper though. Her blue-green eyes flashed like emeralds when she had tantrums, which she had been having a lot of lately. She yelled and screamed, and blamed everybody for her mother leaving. But if Jon Arryn thought Ned was going to have his hands full with Sansa then Ned was going to need more hands for Arya. Luckily Robb and Jon Snow were already actively helping look after their younger siblings.

Little Arya was the most independent baby that Arryn had ever seen, he hadn't realised that she was already walking until he left a door slightly ajar and looked away for few seconds. Arya was fast, she had disappeared and sent everybody into a panic, until Vayon Poole came up the stairs with the squirming girl in his arms and a smile on his face. Somehow the girl had lost her clothes and her nappy before being found.

"I found this underfoot, my lord." Vayon said with a smile as he passed the babe back to a panicking Jon. "You may want to keep doors and windows closed, she's faster than any of my five girls were at her age, and she's a climber too."

"Down!" Arya demanded.

"I see." Jon replied. "And where are your clothes?"

"Off!" Arya answered triumphantly.

Jon laughed. "Well if you're going to do that we better get you potty trained." He smiled at the dark-haired girl and Old Nan took her to get some fresh clothes. Arya looked so much like her father, and she was a loud, happy child. The only other child that shared Ned's looks so strongly was Jon Snow, it was only the eyes that didn't match. Jon Snow's eyes were so dark as to almost be black, Jon Arryn had never seen eyes quite like them. Arya had her father's changeable grey eyes, Stark eyes.

Not for the first time Jon Arryn found himself wondering who Jon's mother was. Oh, he knew that Ned had given some name when Robert had pushed the issue, but he also knew the name had been that of a wet-nurse and nothing more. Jon Arryn had often suspected that the boy was Ashara Dayne's, but Ned refused to discuss it. Ned's avoidance of the subject only served to raise more questions. Jon Arryn's mind wandered to the only known bastard in history to be said to have black eyes. Orys One-Hand Baratheon, allegedly Aegon the Conquer's half-brother. Could having one parent with purple eyes lead to black eyes? Arryn would need to take a closer look at the histories on that question, maybe he would have to give the Dragonstone library a visit some time in the future?

Brandon was a quiet and handsome baby, at only a couple of moons old it was difficult to predict what his future held, however Brandon's quietness only went to highlight just how fussy young Robert was. The two babe's shared a crib and looking at them side by side made Jon Arryn realise just how dark Robert's hair was. The two wet-nurses shared the duties of nursing Arya and the two boys, although Jon was surprised to discover that Arya was already half-weened. When he commented on it to Ned the man just smiled and said she'd be changing her own nappies if it was up to her. The girl was as wild as the House's sigil.

~~/~~

Jon Arryn's attention was drawn back to the birthday girl, whom was currently on his lap, as she reached for a large bread roll. "Here, let me break that up for you." He offered, reaching for the roll, but Arya snatched it away.

"No." She insisted, she squished the roll in her chubby wee hands then shoved as much of it as possible into her mouth and took a triumphant bite.

Maege Mormont, the Heiress of Bear Island, laughed loudly at the girl's antics. "If you ever want to foster that one out let me know, Ned." She chuckled. "I'll have a mace in her hand by the time she's six." The She-Bear drained her horn of ale and reached for some more.

Ned paled. "Six is a little young for a mace." He muttered. "A training sword maybe…"

Maege scoffed. "Didn't do Dacey any harm, did it girl?" She asked slapping the shoulder of the young woman beside her.

"No, mother, it didn't." Dacey replied politely.

The young woman was a strong contrast to her mother. Maege was short, stout, grey-haired and a fierce warrior. Darcy was getting close to six feet tall and still growing. The young woman was lean, with black hair, and elegant. She was a graceful dancer and a skilled warrior, she was currently in a dress, but was equally at ease in leather armour.

_She must have gotten her height and build from her father._ Jon Arryn thought. He suspected that Maege had brought her along in the hopes that Ned would take her to wife, many of the other guests had also brought along daughters, sisters, and nieces of marrying age. As the feast continued Jon found himself looking around the table, trying to discern which traits each woman had inherited from which parent.

Jon half listened as Ned said that he hadn't really thought about fostering out any of the children, Maege had replied that she had a daughter, Jorelle, that was a similar age to Sansa, and Ned had quickly suggested that maybe when the girls were older Jorelle could come to Winterfell for a time? Rickard Karstark had quickly pointed out that his daughter, Alys, was a similar age to Robb, and before Ned knew what was happening he had been drawn into a conversation about future handmaidens for his two daughters.

~~/~~

Jon Arryn was still at Winterfell when Lysa demanded both a divorce and her son, he rode to Riverrun to speak with her. Upon his arrival Hoster greeted him warmly but there was a sadness in Hoster's eyes. Hoster advised him that Lysa was claiming that Robert wasn't his, but was instead fathered by Littlefinger. It made sense, the hair matched, the child was small and sickly, as Petyr Baelish had been as a boy, and Lysa had been pregnant to the man once before. Jon Arryn gave her the divorce but not the child, instead he rode from Riverrun to Kings Landing at a hard pace. He stood in open court and informed King Robert of Lysa's insistence that Robert Arryn was Petyr's bastard, he pointed out that both Petyr and the child had dark hair, a trait that was lacked by both the Tully and Arryn Houses, and suggested that the King let the Mockingbird chose if the child should be renamed as a Waters or a Baelish.

King Robert, however, gave Littlefinger no choice, the boy had been named after him and he shared Jon's anger at the insult of it all. He legitimised the babe as a Baelish and stripped Littlefinger of his role as Master of Coin. Robert stripped Littlefinger of all of his holdings in Kings Landing and strongly suggested that he return to the Fingers with his son and heir _immediately_. King Robert then _gifted_ the brothels, and the whores to Chataya, a Summer Island woman whom owned the Kings favourite brothel.

Chataya appeared in court three days later with the royal books, which had been hidden at one of the brothels, and her nine year old daughter, Alayaya. Both mother and child had the ebony skin, dark curly hair, and golden-brown eyes that their people were known for. Both mother and child were striking and dressed in beautiful silks. Chataya gave Alayaya to the King as a thank you gift, flippantly stating that he could keep her as a cup-bearer until he deemed her old enough to be a mistress, and that her flower would likely blossom within the year. Summer Island girls were known to bloom early. Chataya stated that Alayaya already had extensive training and could be sent back to her for more training if she did not please the King.

Cersei was outraged, but soon silenced, and King Robert accepted the gift. From that day on the girl, Yaya as she was sometimes called, seldom left the King's side, even attending him on hunts.

Jon Arryn returned to the Vale, as he had originally intended, Ser Brynden Tully, Lysa's uncle, greeted him at the gate. Brynden, or the 'Blackfish' as he was called, was the Knight of the Bloody Gate, an important role in the security of the Vale. He reassured Jon that he had no intentions of leaving unless Jon asked him to. Jon lingered at the Gate for a day, reacquainting himself with the men, he did the same at the waycastles of Stone, Snow, and Sky. He soon realised that he was delaying returning to The Eyrie, it would be lonely to go back there with no wife, no wards, and no children of his own. His thoughts moved to his sister's grandson, Harrold Hardyng, perhaps it was time to name the lad his heir?

~~/~~


	4. Part 3: Edmure

Part 3: Edmure

"A motherhouse?!" Lysa screamed. "No! I will not go!"

"You will do as you are told! You have brought enough shame on our house!" Hoster Tully replied coldly.

"Shame? I've brought shame?! You forced me to drink moon tea years ago when I was pregnant to Petyr, and it nearly killed me… then you married me off to a man old enough to be _your_ grandfather… a man whose seed was so bad that those pregnancies nearly killed me… my son has been stolen from me… I love Petyr, I've _always_ _loved_ Petyr… please, let me go to him, let me go to my son."

"Petyr doesn't want you, he has however sent a marriage proposal for Cat." Hoster replied coldly.

Edmure watched as Catelyn paled at the comment. Lysa spun around to her sister and moved to strike her but Catelyn caught the hand. "I hate you." Lysa whimpered. "He always wanted you… our first time together he called out _your_ name." Lysa suddenly burst into tears and Catelyn hugged her. "Tell me you won't marry him, please." Lysa begged. "Promise me."

"I will do whatever our lord father commands, dear sister, as will you." Catelyn replied sadly.

"The proposal has already been refused." Hoster advised.

Edmure was shocked, he could remember when he was young that Lysa had been very ill, but she couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen at the time, had she really been pregnant? Lysa cried and begged and screamed, but a week later she was on her way to a motherhouse and the start of her Septa training.

Hoster hadn't taken either of the divorces well, he had tried to convince Catelyn to return to Winterfell, but Jon Arryn had arrived with a long letter from Ned Stark stating that all blame for the divorce should be put on Ned alone, and that Catelyn's honour was not in question. The letter had been carefully worded and included an open invitation for Hoster to come visit his grandchildren any time he wished. Jon Arryn had talked with Hoster and convinced him that Ned was still an ally. Still, Hoster was nervous, he was determined to find a Stormlands bride for Edmure. When Hoster had heard of the 'less than beautiful' heiress of Tarth he had insisted that Edmure go meet her, and allowed Catelyn to join him in the hopes that she might find herself a suitable new husband in the process, after all, Renly Baratheon had been fostered at Tarth.

Edmure, Catelyn, and their retinue arrived on the island on a clear day. Lord Selwyn Tarth greeted them warmly, but tried to skirt them past the training yard on their arrival. Edmure caught sight of a scrawny young girl with straw coloured hair, and freckles, in armour - a tournament sword in her hands. The girl was tall, almost as tall as Edmure, but there was a youthfulness to her coarse features that suggested she would get taller still. Although not conventionally attractive, her blue eyes were stunning. Her nose looked like it had recently been broken and was still healing, there were dark bruises under her eyes, but there was also a determination that reminded him of his uncle Brynden.

Edmure was intrigued, he knew it could be considered rude to step away from his host but he couldn't help himself, he watched as she easily defeated her opponent, a man at least twice her age. As her opponent yielded Edmure stepped onto the training field.

"May I have a go?" He asked.

The girl looked to Lord Selwyn as if asking permission and Selwyn nodded. "Brienne, this is Ser Edmure Tully."

Brienne? Wait, this was the girl he was meant to meet? But Brienne was only twelve… he smiled at the young woman and removed his sword belt, handing his sword to Catelyn. A tournament sword was offered to him and the duel began. She was good, far better than he had been at her age, and Edmure was impressed. As the afternoon progressed Brienne also showed off her skill with a mace, although he was thankfully not her opponent for this. Brienne was nothing like the pretty girls that Edmure favoured, but if he was honest, he didn't respect those pretty girls… especially when they spread their legs too easily. By the time that they sat down for dinner Brienne had his respect.

Lord Selwyn was firm that if a betrothal was arranged it would not be at the expense of Brianne's martial training, and Edmure agreed, he discussed tactics and weapons with her over dinner and discovered that the girl was quiet intelligent. They discussed how Edmure had gained his knighthood and he quickly realised that Brienne wanted to be a knight herself.

"No woman has ever been knighted in the Seven Kingdoms." Brienne said quietly.

Catelyn reached out and clasped the girl's hand. "No woman has been knighted in the Seven Kingdoms _yet_." She replied.

The young woman had given Catelyn a shy smile and Edmure had been taken away by the purity of it. In that moment he had known two things for sure, one, he would marry this girl, and two, he would get her that knighthood. They stayed for a week and Edmure trained with Brienne every day, when they returned to Riverrun he asked his father to arrange the betrothal.

~~/~~

Brienne was fourteen when they married, the ceremony was held at Evenfall and to Edmure's amasement Renly Baratheon was amongst the honoured guests. The youngest brother of the king took Edmure aside and made him promise that Brienne would be allowed to continue to train, Edmure countered by making Renly promise to be the one to knight her when the time came. Renly's icy blue eyes widened in surprise and he gave Edmure a bright smile. "Now, won't that cause a scandal? I think you and I are going to be friends." Renly replied with a smirk and a nudge.

Brienne was nervous about the bedding ceremony, and rightly so, Edmure was angered by how openly cruel many of the lords were towards her, by the time she reached the bedchamber she was shaking. Edmure pulled her close to him and stroked her hair, he kissed her gently and shielded her as much from the view of those watching as he possibly could. "They're just jealous, because you're a better fighter than they are." He whispered to her quietly. "Good fighters are often good lovers too, this is just another form of combat, let's show them what they will never have."

Brienne seemed to relax a little at his words, he took things slowly and took joy in finding ways to make her moan, ensured that she had reached release twice before finally taking her maidenhood and consummating the marriage, by then her nervousness was gone, he was stunned when she flipped them so that she was on top, by the time she was finished with him all the men in the room were so aroused that they were off in search of their wives, lovers, or the closest willing servant girl.

"You are beautiful." He whispered as he held her close. "Not pretty, pretty is shallow and fades, but you are truly beautiful."

"I'm not beautiful." Brienne whispered, her eyes shut.

"You are as beautiful to me as Tanselle was to Ser Duncan the Tall." He replied. "She was not too tall for him, and you are not too tall for me, our family could use some height."

Brienne snuggled closer to him. "Go to sleep," She muttered.

He dropped a gentle kiss on her shoulder. "Yes, my Tanselle." He whispered.

It seemed that Renly was genuinely interested in Brienne's happiness. He, and his squire Loras Tyrell, accompanied Edmure's party back to Riverrun, an act which pleased Lord Hoster very much. Renly was gifted a room that would always be his at Riverrun, ten moons later Renly was present for the celebration of Edmure and Brienne's first born children, twin boys with reddish –blonde hair. Axel, whom was slightly older, had greenish-blue eyes, Catelyn said they looked much like Sansa's eyes. Edwyle had blue eyes, and was named as Lord Selwyn Tarth's heir. Renly had Brienne Knighted two weeks after she gave birth, much to the uproar of the Kingdoms.

Edmure was aware that his father did everything in his power to try and get a match between Renly and Catelyn, but when Hoster raised the matter directly Renly simply gave him a kind smile and showed him a locket with a painting of a doe-eyed girl, the girl was apparently Loras' sister. Renly admitted that they were not betrothed, yet, but he hoped for it.

Five moons after the birth of the twins a representative of a merchant Prince from Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis, arrived with a gift of a dozen Dothraki Horses for the first ever female knight of the realm. It was an amazing and unexpected gift, and one that made Brienne smile in ways that warmed Edmure's heart, yet he suspected that there was more to the gift, and the man's presence, than met the eye.

Six moons after that, as Edmure met his future brother in law for the first time, those suspicions were confirmed. Although Edmure could not begin to fathom what his father had to offer the Merchant Prince in return for Catelyn's hand? More gifts and horses came with Illyrio, including a dozen Dragon-bone bows. It was all so very generous, Edmure was sure that Catelyn would be well treated by her new future husband.

~~/~~


	5. Part 4: Ned Stark

Part 4: Ned Stark

"I hate you!" Six year old Sansa yelled at Jon Snow. "You're a bastard and I hate you! Mother left because of you!" She started sobbing again, her face almost as red as her hair, she stamped her foot. "I wish you had died!" she yelled.

Ned had come running as soon as he had heard the yelling, Jory only steps behind him, the sight that greeted them broke Ned's heart. His oldest children were at a stand-off in the middle of one of the main courtyards of Winterfell. Robb and Jon were on one side and Sansa was on the other with the Steward's youngest daughter, Jeyne Poole, beside her. Ned's ward, Theon Greyjoy, was off to the side, the older boy was smirking as if he had somehow been the cause of the trouble. Jon stood helplessly, the look on his face suggesting that he believed what Sansa was yelling was true. Sansa's face was tear-stained and angry. Robb was red-faced, like his sister, but his position and posture clearly said that he was actively defending Jon.

"Sansa, that's not true, apologise to Jon right now!" Robb yelled.

"No!" Sansa yelled back, her greenish-blue eyes looking more green the more angry she got, like churned water where two rivers meet. "He's not my brother and I will not a-polly-gess! Mother left because of him!"

"Did not!" Robb yelled, his blue eyes seeming to get darker.

"Did too!" Sansa retorted.

"No, she didn't." Ned stated firmly. He sighed, he was at a loss as to which child to comfort first, Jon looked completely heartbroken but at least he had Robb. Sansa, although Tully in looks, was showing that she was every bit a Stark, but her only support was a girl who was not blood. The only way that Ned was going to deflect his daughter's rage from Jon was to take the brunt of it himself. "Sansa, sometimes marriages just don't work." He said quietly. "Your mother left because of me… and because she doesn't like the North."

Sansa stamped her foot again. "I hate the North too!" She yelled. "I hate the North, and I hate Jon, and I hate you… I want my mummy! I want my mummy…. Why doesn't she want me?! Why didn't she take me with her?" The child's anger gave way to confusion and despair, she started sobbing loudly.

"At least you know who your mummy is." Jon said quietly, silent tears running down his face.

Ned looked on feeling helpless, suddenly Old Nan was there, scooping Sansa up in her arms and talking softly to her. Old Nan, who had done the same for his older brother, Brandon, many times. Brandon had initially blamed Benjen for their mother's death. Old Nan would know what to say to Sansa, Ned turned his attention to Jon. Robb had placed himself between Jon and Sansa, because of the direction from which Ned had approached the argument Robb was also between Ned and Jon.

Jon looked over Robb's shoulder and up at Ned with accusing dark eyes. "It's true, isn't it?" He said quietly. "Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran don't have a mother because of me."

"Jon." Ned sighed, it was four years since Catelyn had left, he had hoped that things would be starting to get better by now. He took a step towards Jon but Jon took a step backwards. Robb remained between them. Ned couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at how Robb always protected Jon, and a surge of regret that Catelyn was the reason that Robb felt Jon needed to be protected.

"Tell me." Jon begged. "You won't even tell me who my mother is! Why won't you tell me the truth?!"

"Jon, I've told you, we'll talk about your mother when you're older." Ned tried to reach out to Jon but he pulled away.

"Lie." Jon whispered. He took a step backwards, shaking his head, and then another. Robb held his ground, trying to make himself a barrier between Ned and Jon. Pride and sadness wared in Ned at the action. Jon continued to talk quietly, but the anger and sadness in his voice was clear. "You always lie when it comes to me! Why? What is so terrible… you never lie about anything… except me!"

"Jon…" Ned sighed, he gently pushed past Robb and crossed the space between them, kneeling in front of Jon. "Jon… you are my blood. You are my blood and I love you very much, don't ever forget that. I have had to make some hard choices to keep you safe, not talking about you mother is one of them. I know you don't understand, and I'm sorry that I can't explain it to you." He touched Jon's face gently, making Jon look at him. "You are my blood, you may not be a Stark, but you are my blood. I made a choice to raise you and keep you safe, I made a promise to love and protect you. As to your mother, that is not something we can talk about, not yet."

"Why?" Jon asked, and then he burst into tears.

Ned pulled him close and hugged him, suddenly Robb was there, also trying to offer Jon comfort, Ned pulled Robb into the hug. It was heart-breaking, kneeling there in the mud, with Jon sobbing, knowing that he _couldn't _explain it to him. Ned knew that the lack of explanation made Robb angry too. But they were too young… it was too dangerous… he would tell them the truth one day.

"Jon." He whispered. "There is nothing terrible about you, and I promise that I _will_ tell you about your mother when you are older." He promised. "But not today. I love you, and I will keep you as safe as I possibly can, but I need you to stop asking about your mother."

Jon nodded. "Is my mother the reason that Lady Catelyn left?" He asked quietly.

"No," Ned whispered sadly. "Cat left because I couldn't be the man she wanted me to be, in the end she was honest, compared to Brandon I was a disappointment."

"I don't think you're a disappointment." Robb said quietly. "I'm glad you're my father, I wish you would tell Jon about his mother but I'm glad you're our father." Robb hugged him tighter.

"Gods, my boys." Ned muttered. "My brave boys, I've made a mess of everything, haven't I?" He suddenly didn't care that half of Winterfell was watching, he needed them both to know that they were loved.

"We'll be alright." Robb said with certainty. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

Ned replied by hugging both boy's tighter. Suddenly Maester Luwin approached, looking somewhat flustered.

"Eddard, forgive me, I would not interrupt if it was not important, but a rather urgent raven has just arrived. May we speak in private?"

Ned nodded. He dropped a kiss on Robb's forehead and then on Jon's. "I love you both, never forget that." He said quietly. He released both boys and stood, turning towards the direction of his Solar. Maester Luwin fell into step silently behind him.

~~/~~

Ned re-read the note, yet no matter how many times he read it he still struggled to process the information.

_Lord Paramount, Eddard Stark_ _of Winterfell, Warden of the North._

_I, Catelyn Tully of Riverrun, humbly request to visit the children as I will soon be moving to Pentos and may not get another opportunity. I furthermore request permission to bring my betrothed, Magister Illyrio Mopatis, that he may meet the children. I will understand, but be disappointed, if you refuse this request. My word is still my word._

_I await your quick reply.  
Lady Catelyn Tully._

Ned decided that it was the formality of the raven that hurt the most, he had held out little hope that Catelyn would actually return in any capacity. At least Catelyn was an honourable woman, she could have chosen to use Jon's parentage against Ned, but she hadn't. Ned could feel Maester Luwin watching him carefully.

"The answer is yes, of course, but I do not know how to word the raven." Ned muttered quietly.

"I could reply on your behalf if you wish." Luwin suggested quietly.

Ned nodded. "Perhaps that would be for the best." He agreed. The Maester nodded and turned to leave but Ned stopped him. "Let's not mention this to the children just yet." He said quietly.

Maester Luwin nodded. "Of course, but we will have to prepare them for it." He gave Ned a sympathetic look. "Is there anything else that I can do for you, Lord Stark?"

Ned gave him a grim smile. "No, unless you can convince my children to make peace…"

"Sadly that is beyond my levels of negotiation." Maester Luwin replied, he gave Ned a quick bow and left.

~~/~~

Illyrio Mopatis was nothing like what Ned Stark had expected, he was extremely overweight and his jewellery alone was likely worth enough to buy Winterfell, he was covered in finery and furs and attended by many servants, or perhaps they were slaves? He had a guard of Unsullied, they were certainly slaves. Ned had to constantly remind himself that in Essos slavery was accepted.

Illyrio was a sweet smelling man with soft hands, who had likely never worked for anything in his life. Ned had every reason to suspect that the marriage had been arranged by Hoster Tully, Illyrio was not the type of man that Ned could see Catelyn choosing for herself, he was nothing like Brandon. And Hoster Tully was a politically savvy man. Illyrio was rich, powerful, and in need of heirs. Also he was foreign which meant that Hoster could send the embarrassment of a divorced daughter away in exchange for a trade deal. The Riverlands were fertile, but Ned worried at the thought of Westrosi food being sent across the Narrow Sea instead of being stored for winter, the further south the Wall had to look for food the more it would cost them, Ned resolved to store more of his harvests to pick up the slack, and to encourage other lords to do the same.

The thought that Catelyn was marrying a man not of her choosing for a second time also worried Ned, but he did not know how to approach the matter. The merchant-prince seemed to behave kindly towards Catelyn, and his obvious wealth meant that he could give Catelyn a very comfortable life if he chose to.

Illyrio also seemed very generous, so generous, in fact Ned had been embarrassed by the lavish gifts that Illyrio had brought with him. The gifts had included a dozen Dothraki horses, gems, silks, spices, cheeses and even six bows made out of dragon bone. The horses were amazing, they were far leaner than the war horses which Ned was accustomed to, but were nimble and fit, they did not seem to like the cold much though. They even came with the unique Dothraki saddles which allowed archers to fire from horseback. All of the horses were Stark colours; Grey, black, and white. There were nine mares and three stallions. One stallion was pure white, one stallion was pure black and one stallion was a dapple grey with black markings on its muzzle, the points of its ears, and the lower half of its legs with black mane and tail, almost like the black markings on a wolf.

Edmure Tully and his young wife Brienne had accompanied them, as had their twin baby boys. Edmure rode a chestnut Dothraki stallion with flaxen mane and tail. To Ned's surprise Brienne wore full armour and rode a pale charger, a wet-nurse accompanied them.

Robb was reserved and cautious, but he enjoyed spending time with his new baby cousins, Arya was enthralled with the horses and very taken with Brienne, Sansa was in awe of Illyrio and his servants and Bran was too young to care. The visitors stayed for two weeks, Ned encouraged the children to spend as much time with Catelyn as they could but Robb refused, saying he would not do anything that Jon or Theon could not be a part of, he spent more time sparing with Edmure and Brienne as both were happy to spare with Jon and Theon as well. Brienne was surprisingly good! Edmure and Brienne seemed to have a unique, and healthy, relationship, it gave Ned hope that there were men out there that were not threatened by a strong woman. It also made him wonder if he should take the She-Bear's offers more seriously, Arya was already showing strong interest in both sword and bow. Hmm, six bows… six children, including Theon… that was interesting.

Sansa was on her best behaviour, but that dissolved into her usually melancholy on the day that Catelyn was set to leave. Sansa yelled and screamed, hit people and pulled hair, all the while begging Catelyn to take Sansa with her.

"Sansa," Catelyn said sadly. "You are a Stark of Winterfell, you belong here with your brothers and sister."

"I hate Winty-fell, I hate my brothers and my sister… why don't you want me?! Why don't you love me?! Why won't you take me with you?!" Sansa stomped her little feet and started crying.

"Oh, Sansa." Catelyn sighed, she picked up the crying child and Sansa hugged her fiercely. "I do love you." Catelyn started to cry as well.

Illyrio cleared his throat. "Sansa, do you really want to leave your home and go to a strange place?" Sansa nodded her head up and down so fast that she almost head-butted Catelyn in the chin. Illyrio looked thoughtful. "Lord Stark,"

"Please," Ned interrupted. "I have told you, call me Ned."

Illyrio smiled. "Ned, Sansa seems quite distressed… perhaps we could take her to Pentos for a while? She might enjoy the warmer climate, and it would be nice for Catelyn to have at least one of her children present on her wedding day. If she likes it she could perhaps become my ward?"

Ned was reluctant, he had promised Catelyn that he would never keep their children from her, but Riverrun was one thing, across the Narrow Sea was a completely different situation, there was no way to protect Sansa if anything went wrong.

"Please. Mommy, please take me with you. I hate Winty-fell and I don't want to be a Stark anymore." Sansa sobbed.

"Sansa, you don't mean that." Catelyn replied. "Winterfell is where you belong."

"No, it's not." Robb, who had been very quiet since Catelyn's arrival spoke up. "Sansa doesn't belong here, just like you don't. She hates it as much as you do and she doesn't fit. She's mean and nasty, she's cruel to Jon and rude to Theon, just like you were, and she picks on Arya all the time. We're northerners, Sansa doesn't belong here. "

"Robb…" Ned sighed. He knew Robb was angry, but were things really this bad?

"If she doesn't want to be a part of our family why make her?" Robb asked him. "Let her go, she's our blood and that will never change. But if she wants to leave, let her. Let her have her pretty dresses, we're soldiers, she's not." Robb rested a hand on Arya's shoulder as he made the 'we're soldiers' comment.

Ned swallowed thickly, he loved Sansa, but Robb was right. Gods, war was easier than daughters… He was hesitant, but Catelyn would ensure Sansa's safety. Hopefully a little time away would make Sansa reconsider things. He turned his attention to Illyrio. "You would give me your word that you will protect her as if she were your own…"

"Of course." Illyrio agreed.

"And if she changes her mind you will arrange her immediate safe return?" Ned insisted.

"A given, such a sweet girl should want for nothing." Illyrio replied.

"I'll go get her myself if I have to." Brienne added, Ned believed her, although what she could do against Unsullied he did not know.

Ned did not want Sansa to grow up believing that slavery was acceptable, he did not want her so far away that he couldn't protect her, yet on the other hand he wasn't protecting his other children by keeping her here. Robb's entire personality seemed to be developing around protecting Jon, and that wasn't healthy. Sansa _was_ cruel to Theon, and she and Arya _did_ fight a lot, children fight, but Ned had to admit that with Sansa it was bad.

"My Lord," Jory said carefully. "I've always wanted to see Essos, I could perhaps go with her?"

"As could I." Another guard volunteered.

"And I." Offered another.

Ned sighed, then slowly nodded, Illyrio had shown nothing but kindness and generosity since he had arrived, he had treated Catelyn, Ned, and the children well. Illyrio had done nothing to offend, yet Ned was still hesitant. He sighed again, if he refused Sansa would never forgive him, and the other children deserved a little peace… there was no real reason for him to distrust Illyrio, he should let Sansa spend some time with her mother. "Then perhaps she could go with you… for a few months." He agreed reluctantly.

Arrangements were made, Sansa left with a dozen Winterfell guards, her mother and Illyrio, but months turned to years, the guards returned, but Sansa did not. Every now and then gifts would arrive from Illyrio and there would be letter's about how Sansa was from Catelyn, but Sansa herself never wrote.

~~/~~


	6. Part 5: Jon Arryn

Part 5: Jon Arryn

In the seven years since Jon had stepped down as Hand of the King Robert seemed to have taken much of Jon's advice. Jon had, as promised, purchased a property in King's Landing and now split his time between King's Landing, the Vale, and Winterfell. Much of what he saw when at King's Landing was promising.

Stannis had taken to the role of Hand of the King well, yes, there was some conflict between the brothers, but the only matter that they truly disagreed on was whores. Stannis wanted to outlaw prostitution, Robert had done the opposite, instead he had created some new laws that increased prostitute's rights and set standards for how they must be treated and provided for by their employers.

Jon was not a lusty man himself, but he actually approved of the new laws:

1) All brothel owners now had to provide a reasonable standard of living for their girls/boys.

2) Minimum ages were set, any brothel owner caught working girls or boys younger than twelve years old risked losing their business to the crown. Girls and boys younger than twelve could do basic domestic duties such as cleaning, cooking and caring for the prostitutes' children, but they could not work as whores.

3) All brothel owners had to provide reasonable care for the children of their whores whilst the whores worked.

4) Any woman, or man, whom had entered into a contract for a paid sexual service could change their mind and say no, even after monies were exchanged, a full refund would be expected however regardless of what acts had happen prior to the whore changing their mind.

5) Any whore who believed that they were being mistreated by their employer could go to a city guard for aid, they would immediately be taken away from their employer, along with any children that they had, and put under Kings protection whilst their allegations were investigated. Regardless of the result of the investigation they would not be sent back to the employer in question.

As to whether these laws were specifically passed to aggravate Stannis, or were the influence of Yaya (whom was now officially King Robert's mistress) Jon Arryn did not know. But they did improve the quality of life for a large portion of the population of King's Landing, and, for that reason alone, Jon approved of them.

King Robert had also lost some weight, he now regularly sparred with Ser Barristan Selmy, and seemed happier for it. His relationship with Cersei was still beyond strained, and the fact that he had sired three children to his mistress, and she was heavily pregnant with the fourth, did not help matters. Cersei had born another two children, neither of whom looked anything like Robert, and Jon was starting to question the paternity of all of Cersei's children, especially when compared with Ned's children. To have all three children take after Cersei so strongly seemed unlikely. But, if Cersei was having an affair, who was she having it with? It would have to be somebody that looked a lot like her based on the children, and who, other than her brother, was ever allowed alone with her for a long enough period of time? Clearly Jon was missing something.

He had found a few more of Robert's bastards, the most interesting was a young boy named Gendry, whom had recently gained an apprenticeship as a blacksmith… Gendry's mother had died when he was little and he had spent much of his life in an orphanage, but Varys had pointed Jon in the lad's direction. Gendry remembered little of his mother, but he did remember that she had yellow hair. Yet Gendry's hair was as black and unruly as his father's had been at his age, he was big for his age, with blue eyes, everything about him screamed 'Baratheon'. If Cersei's children _were_ Robert's then why didn't they look like Gendry? Why didn't they look like Mya?

Even the new Master of Coin, Ser Mercurius Wessington, looked more like a Baratheon than Robert's children did. Ser Mercurius had dark brown hair and laughing blue eyes, and he was tall and broad, although shorter than King Robert. He also had a keen eye for detail; Mercurius had discovered that Petyr Baelish had stolen considerably from the Crown during his time as Master of Coin. Robert had been enraged and had at first wanted to sentence Petyr to death for the crimes, but that wouldn't get the money back. Jon had convinced Robert to instead send Petyr to the Wall and allow Jon to put a regent in place until young Robert Baelish was of age to rule. Monies could then be recovered from the House over time. Lyonel Corbray was given the task, however Lyonel had soon discovered that his younger brother, Ser Lyn Corbray, had been working for Baelish against the Crown. Lyonel had sent his brother to the Wall and stripped him of the family ancestral longsword, Lady Forlorn, offering it to the Crown in lieu of payment.

Robert had accepted the offer, and in return Lyonel had adopted young Robert and named the boy his heir, reclaiming the lands which House Corby had once given to Petyr Baelish's great-grandfather. Jeor Mormont, the Lord Commander of the Wall, had the foresight to separate the two men, sending Petyr to the Shadow Tower and Lyn to Eastwatch.

The blade, although _not_ Valyrian Steel, was a sword of note, the earliest record of the sword was when the First Men King, Robar II Royce, had claimed Lady Forlorn after slaying Qyle Corbray, the Andal King of the Fingers. Robar had wielded Lady Forlorn during the battle of the Seven Stars, using it to kill Torgold Tollett and a decoy dressed as Ser Artys Arryn… but the blade was believed to be older than that. (House Corby claimed that Ser Jaime Corbray slew Robar in the battle, allowing them to reclaim Lady Forlorn.)

The blade was a dark smoky grey, spell-forged in a way that blacksmiths no longer remembered, with a large heart-shaped ruby in the pommel. It somehow reminded Jon of Ned's family blade, Ice. Some said that it was 'dragon-steel', whatever that was meant to mean.

Yohn Royce had offered to settle the debt in exchange for the sword as the blade had once been in the procession of his family. Since Yohn was also the protector of Mya Stone the King had only charged Yohn a quarter of the debt. Yohn had come to court to be officially presented the blade and had brought Mya along with him as one of his servants. Although Mya had not interacted with Robert directly the gesture had made Robert very happy, and he had gotten to see the lovely young woman that his daughter was growing into.

Yes, things seemed to be going well, but Jon still worried… for both of his boys. (Robert and Ned would always be his boys.) Robert seemed not to care that he was alienating his wife and Ned refused to take a new one. Both of them were rubbing their vassals the wrong way by their actions. Another war was coming, Jon could feel it, only the 'where' and the 'when' were in question.

~~/~~

Jon Arryn and Mya watched as Harry trained with the Stark children, they were in a field, just outside of Winterfell, with straw and wooden targets set up. Some hung from tree branches and some were free standing. Ser Rodrick had out done himself, there were straw men mounted on straw horses, posts, obstacles… it was a training field like nothing that Jon Arryn had ever seen, but then he'd never seen anybody shoot an arrow from horseback before today either.

Three dozen men at arms guarded the edges of the training area, keeping back the townsfolk who always crowed in to watch. Jeshi Cassel, Jory's wife, was leading the training. She was a Dothraki woman who had been sold into slavery, Jory had negotiated with Illyrio for her freedom (and that of five other Dothraki women) prior to returning to Winterfell. Two other Dothraki women, Layi and Zhowi, were assisting her. All three were former slaves, and all three had chosen husbands among the guards that had bought them their freedom.

The game was simple, you got to ride the field once, trying to hit as many targets as possible, but you also had to keep changing speed according to the instructions yelled out by Jeshi. Robb, Jon Snow, Theon, and Harry had all ridden the course so far, Harry had been lent a Dragon-bone bow for the exercise and had spent the morning training with the Dothraki women beforehand. Ser Rodrick had yelled the speeds for Harry as he did not know the Dothraki commands. Jon Snow had done the best, only missing three targets, there was just something about the way that lad moved, something familiar, if only Jon Arryn could place it? As Arya moved into position Jon found himself studying the Stark boys once again. Snow didn't have the Stark shoulders or height, Robb did, Jon had the long face, but there was something about his fine cheekbones, something almost… no, it couldn't be? He was short and slim, graceful and agile, with tight, almost Valyrian, curls… but it couldn't be. As Arya took the field Jon Arryn found himself comparing her to Snow.

"Onqothat." Jeshi commanded as Arya entered the field, Arya kept her horse at a slow walk, she got two targets before the next command was given. She was confidant with a horse, graceful and quick. Ned had always said Lyanna loved her horses… he looked at Snow again, the shape of the chin was wrong for a Stark, it was too fine, too delicate.

"Irvosat." Jeshi commanded and Arya started to trot, her eyes surveyed the field choosing her targets. Ned had always said that Lyanna loved the bow, and wanted to fight with a sword like her brothers. Rickard had forbidden it, but Ned had admitted that it hadn't stopped him or his brothers from teaching her what they could. That was why Ned had found it so strange when Lyanna had been taken, he'd expected her to be armed.

"Karilnat." Jeshi commanded and Arya pushed the horse into a gallop, she rose up in her saddle, reins in one hand and placed one foot on the back of it, setting of two shots in quick succession. She held the bow cag-handed and notched the arrow in her right. Her left hand held the bowstring strangely, drawing with her thumb and using two fingers to hold the butt of the arrow in place. Each shot hit their mark and her rear foot found its stirrup just as Jeshi commanded "Onqothat." Arya slowed the horse quicker than Jon Arryn had ever seen anybody manage. There was a wild beauty in the way the girl's eyes lit up, it reminded Jon of Robert's description of Lyanna after the first time he'd met her.

Mya's gasp brought Jon Arryn out of his contemplation, he smiled at her, he had already known that Arya was good with horses… he just hadn't known how good she was with a bow. Jon Arryn had taken Mya into his direct household just over a year ago and had decided to teach her to read and write, he had soon come to learn of her love for horses and had promised to bring her to Winterfell to see their small heard of Dothraki horses, much to her delight. She had been enthralled by the Dothraki horses, as expected, and Robb had invited her to watch the training session, a kindness which had delighted the sweet girl. Jon Arryn had been toying with the idea of asking Ned to take Mya in for a while now, and the way the Stark children treated her was encouraging.

The game continued, with Arya changing speeds according to instruction, she often wasn't hitting the closest targets, but ones further away, and as she came near the end of the circuit Jon Arryn was sure she had missed a few, but as Jeshi yelled "Karlinqoyi!" Arya drove her horse hard, she fired three shots in quick succession before standing up in her stirrups, she dislodged her left foot again and raised it up, resting it on that special ridge on the back housing that was unique to Dothraki saddles. She hooked her reigns and half turned, she shot her last arrow high, it arched in the air and came down on a target on the other side of the field, as it hit the target Jon Arryn realised that it was the only one that Arya had not yet hit, the horse was still going incredibly fast, but as Jeshi yelled "Soroh!" Arya brought the horse to a sudden stop, still standing. "Onqothat." Jeshi commanded and Arya returned to the saddle and slowly walked the horse off of the field, showing that she had complete control of the animal.

Jon let his gaze moved to the stark boys one last time, he knew for sure that there was no Valyrian blood in Arya's veins, yet she was narrow, short and fluid, just like Jon Snow. Maybe there was no grounds to his suspicions, maybe Jon really was just Ned's bastard? But if that was true, why hide who his mother was? Did he confront Ned? What if his suspicions were right, then what?

Jon forced a smile as Arya brought her horse up beside him, a beautiful grey mare with black mane and tail carefully braided. "Well, that was something." He muttered as she dismounted, Arya smiled and bowed to him, causing him to laugh and muss her hair. "What's her name?"

"Dothraki don't often name their horses." Arya answered.

"Oh, really?" Jon replied raising an eyebrow. "But she'd not a Dothraki's horse, she's yours."

Arya frowned. "No, I ride her, and a couple of others, Bran rides her too, she's not my horse. Zirqi says I'll know when I find _my_ horse, I'll name that one."

Jon Arryn nodded sagely, Arya seemed so serious on the matter, and it showed that the horses, and the Dothraki women, were being treated with respect. "Well, when you do find _your horse_ I'm sure it will be a stunning mare."

Arya shook her head. "No, I want a stallion," She replied. "You can't ride a mare when they're pregnant, a stallion would be better."

Jon Arryn laughed and dropped a kiss on Arya's forehead. "You make a good point." He wrapped an arm around her and turned to watch the men resetting the field.

Alys Karstark came over and took the reins of Arya's horse, leading it away. (Alys was not a fighter, which made her the complete opposite to Arya's other handmaiden, Jorelle Mormont.) The field was reset, and then it was Jorelle's turn. Bran went last. Ned had not come to watch, stating that if he left Winterfell one of the boys would have to stay back. The Stark's really did take this 'There must always be a Stark at Winterfell' thing a little too seriously. Arya chatted with Jon Arryn and Mya as the others ran the course, Jon noticing that she treated Mya kindly.

~~/~~

It was late in the evening when he got the chance to speak to Ned alone, Ned was in his solar, poring over papers. The fire was low, and he only had two candles lit, despite the dimness of the room. Arryn glanced around the room, it was neat and ordered, everything had a place.

"What are you reading?" Jon asked softly.

"Harvest reports." Ned replied, not looking up. "We need to be storing more grain for Winter."

Jon Arryn nodded and took a seat. "Yes, indeed, but you're not just storing for winter, are you? You expect another war."

Ned frowned and put his paperwork down. "Why do you think I'm expecting another war?" He asked carefully.

"Because you're not a fool." Jon replied carefully. "There is always another war, but I have never seen Winterfell so full of soldiers, what are you afraid of, Ned?" It was hard to read Ned's expression in the dim light and the quiet wolf offered no answer. Jon nodded. "Fine, let me ask another question, why won't you re-marry." Ned again met him with silence. "Ned, I'm not your enemy."

"No, you're not my enemy." He agreed. "Some things are just… difficult to talk about."

"Like why Catelyn left?" Jon Arryn asked. "I've noticed the changes since then, what secret did she take with her that puts you in danger?" Ned again replied with silence. Jon reached a hand across the desk, resting it on Ned's arm. "Ned, let me help you."

"You can't." Ned replied. He pulled away from Jon's hand and stood up, walking towards the fire. Jon watched him as he put another log on the fire. Ned didn't need to add the log, not for himself at least, his blood burnt hot, he'd never much minded the cold. No, the log was for Jon's sake, and an escape.

Jon Arryn sighed. "Then let me confide in you," He replied. "I don't believe Cersei's children are Robert's."

"Jon?! What you're saying, if you're wrong it's treason!" Ned took a step towards him

"And if I'm right I have to work out how to approach the matter without Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen ending up like Elia's children." Jon answered, he paused, letting Ned get stuck in that memory. "I'd never let that happen, just as I'd never let that happen to any of your blood, not even Jon. He's Lyanna's, isn't he?" Ned again responded with silence. Jon shook his head and sighed. "Wrong tactic, Ned, anybody ever speaks those words again you respond with rage. You deny it, you yell, and scream and rage until the walls shake, least it reach Robert's ears. I… I understand, I do, I wish you'd trusted me with this."

"So what happens now?" Ned asked softly, was that fear in his voice? Did Ned truly fear what Jon might do?

Jon stood and closed the gap between them. "You are like a son to me, Ned, do you understand that? I love your children like grandchildren, even Jon, how could I not love Jon when you named him after me? Does he know?"

"No." Ned whispered.

Jon nodded. "Good, but you may have to tell him one day, if the Lannister's come north. Rebuild Moat Cailin, nobody needs any greater reason but that you plan to give it to him, it's weak on the north side though, ensure you make it defendable from all sides. Jon of Moat Cailin is a good name, Robert will let his sons take the name of Cailin. I need you to take Harry as a ward for a while, I'm going to try and prove what Cersei has done, I need to be sure that Harry is safe. Mya too, I know she's a lot older than Arya, but I need you to take her as one of Arya's ladies in waiting. Right now Mya is the only proof we have of what Robert's actual children look like, I need you to protect her, and I need to find others."

"Not all my children look like me." Ned whispered softly.

"I'd argue that." Jon replied. "Robb has your build and height, his face is rounder yes, and he has the Tully colourings, but there is no doubt that he's your boy, Bran too. Jon has the Stark colourings, if he didn't he would be in far more danger, but he looks enough like Arya to be safe for now, enough like Lyanna. I won't keep you informed of what I'm doing, or how I plan to do it, but you will know when it's done. Lannister will be your biggest concern, don't ride south to face them, make them come to you." He pulled Ned into a huge. "I'll leave in the morning, stay safe." Ned hugged him tightly.

"Be careful." Ned whispered. "Don't make this the last time you come and visit me."

"I'll do my best." Jon replied. "I'll do my best, and so will you."

~~/~~


	7. Part 6: Harrold Arryn (Harry Hardyng)

Part 6: Harrold Arryn (Harry Hardyng)

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer, or maybe Harry had simply been away from the North for too long, he thanked Lord Cerwyn for his hospitality and started the half-day trek to Winterfell as the day dawned. Surefoot whinnied in anticipation, the gelding's speed increasing as they made the approach. Surefoot was a Dothraki dapple grey and knew the os from Winterfell to the Vale better than most. Os, he was doing it again, using Dothraki words. It wasn't an os, it was a road.

Harry allowed his thoughts to wander as he made the final approach to Winterfell. Winterfell was a strange and interesting place for a young man, especially one that had spent most of his life in the Vale. Harry had technically stopped being Ned Stark's ward after his sixteenth name day, yet Jon Arryn had encouraged him to spend more time there. Not that he minded, the maids seemed to adore his blonde hair. Theon was older, but Theon was technically a prisoner, Harry was not, he was welcome to go between Winterfell and the Vale as he pleased. This would be the last visit for a while though, with Jon Arryn spending more and more time traveling around the Realm Harry would soon be stepping up to actively run the Vale, he was ready, he knew he was ready, he just needed to convince his great uncle of it. That was why he had returned to Winterfell, for advice on how to broach the subject.

Winterfell was like a second home to him (or was that third home?) and Harry was treated well. The weather was a touch on the cold side, but the company was interesting. Robb and Jon were two years Harry's junior, but in some ways they were more mature than Theon. Theon Greyjoy, whom was two years older than Harry, but in no way Harry's senior. Theon the lush… Theon the prisoner… Theon rhae mhar… he was thinking in Dothraki again.

Theon, Robb, and Harry were all the heirs to their respective Houses, yet Jon got the same lessons about leading and ruling that they did, Ned intended to give him some land when he was older, Moat Cailin, and why not? He had Stark blood and was sensible enough. Harry had inspected the progress on the site during his journey north, it would be an impressive fortress when it was done. All of this natural born/true born nonsense was a bit of a lark at times, nobody argued about naming a bastard boy when there was a space that needed filling. A good thing really, Harry already had a bastard of his own, little Alys Stone, and he expected his return to Winterfell would be accompanied by news that he would soon be father to a Snow. It wasn't his fault that the Poole girl had slipped into his bed. He wasn't marrying Alys' mother, and he wouldn't marry the Poole girl either, but he'd do right by his bastard children. That was another matter Harry needed to discuss with Ned, he would need much advice there as well.

Harry had questioned why he'd been left at Winterfell at first, the Northerners thinking and speech was so different, they prayed to different gods, he hadn't seen how it could prepare him for ruling the Vale. He had resented being left there, especially as Mya had been left there as well, but then he'd had a different view of bastards back then. Mya was Robert Baratheon's he knew that now, no wonder Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were both so protective of her. They'd spoken of it in hushed voices, but not hushed enough.

The North had changed Harry's thinking, and his speech, over time. People in Winterfell spoke strangely, Northerners spoke strangely enough, that was true, occasional words from the old tongue snuck through, oft leaving Harry confused, but Winterfell was different. It was the Dothraki words, and how they flowed into Winterfell's everyday speech, that felt strange upon his tongue. Although maybe the words did not feel quite as strange as he thought they should? He might not be fluent in Dothraki, but he could understand much more than he could say.

Onqothat, Irvosat, Karilnat, these were everyday words to him now, horse speeds. Most would say walk, trot, gallop, but not here. Dothraki words slipped in everywhere orvik in place of whip, orzi in place of shoe or boot, os instead of path or road… sometimes he wondered what good learning Dothraki did him? Yet it was impossible not to learn it, especially with young Arya babbling it constantly. His guards had looked at him strangely when he'd said he was ready to go down the os from the Eyrie, only his closest guards had understood. Then maybe that was the point? Yes! He would ask Ned if he could take a Dothraki woman and her guard husband into his service, Jasatti maybe? She always seemed happy. Having a secret language for him and his guards could be quite useful.

Who would have thought that six liberated Dothraki slaves (and some pretty horses) could change a place so much? Not that Harry minded the horses, he'd been gifted a beautiful dapple grey gelding for his sixteenth name day and the horse was sure-footed enough that he could walk the narrow track from the waycastle of Sky to the Eyrie proper just as nimbly as the mules that lived on the track, that was why he'd named it Surefoot. They had tried him with a colt at first, a beast of a horse, dark grey and black, and so wild the beast should have been put down. The monster had thrown him twice, then tried to bite him, then suddenly young Arya had been there, one hand on the horse's bridal, voice gentle and calming. The wild girl had settled the monster quickly, then turned on Harry as if he was the one at fault. She'd saved that colt from gelding that day, but Ned would be a fool to let her ride it. The girl had named it black-blade or something equally silly.

As the gates to Winterfell came into sight a smile lit up Harry's face. The guards knew him by name and greeted him warmly, pools of hot water (diverted from the hot pools in the godswood) bubbled in large stone basins in the courtyards, providing warmth, the same hot water flowed in pipes through the walls. Men (and some women, Winterfell was strange like that) trained in the various yards. A stable hand offered to take Surefoot, but Harry knew better, you had to be different with Dothraki horses, you had to form a true bond. He led the gelding into the stables himself, removed the packs and saddles, and then began to brush the horse down. "Good boy, Surefoot, you've done me well." He whispered.

"You should speak to him in Dothraki." A young voice said, Arya Stark, the wild little wolf. 'Ver Zolat Ivezh' the Dothraki called her.

Harry turned and mock bowed to the girl, she was two stables over, braiding the tail of that beast of a horse. "And good day to you, little ver." Ver, wolf, the words were interchangeable. He took in her attire, she was dressed like a boy as per usual. Her hair in a stupid braided bun with two braids coming out the bottom of it. She had a whip on one hip and her sword on the other. The sword was a work of art, and Harry had to admit that he was slightly jealous of it. The handle was weirwood, enhanced with moonstone, and the blade had runes inscribed upon it. But Arya wasn't usually allowed to wear her sword, not unless she was the acting Stark of Winterfell. "Why aren't you in the training yard?" He asked.

Arya shrugged. "Something about a deserter from the Night's Watch, Father's gone to do the King's Duty, taken the boys with him."

"Even Bran?" Harry questioned, he thought Bran was a bit young to watch a beheading.

Arya nodded. "Even Bran," She replied. "It's his first."

Harry frowned. "Have you ever seen a beheading?" He asked, his stomach twisting at the memory of the first one he'd seen.

"No." Arya answered angrily. "It's not fair, I'm braver than-"

Harry caught her arm, forcing her to look at him. "You can only truly be brave when you are afraid. Death is not a pretty thing, zolat wolf, people shit themselves when they die, did you know that?"

"No." Arya whispered.

Harry nodded. "You will see enough of death," He advised solemnly, "Everybody does, but don't be in a hurry to see your first one." He pulled a face, this conversation was getting too serious. "Come, Lady Stark, help me with my horse, then help me find some lunch, I'm famished."

~~/~~


	8. Part 7: Daenerys

Part 7: Daenerys

Daenerys was nervous, they were surrounded by scary looking armed men and being escorted onto the property of a Magister, Viserys seemed confidant, but Daenerys was not. They had spent the last of their coin on that feast for the Golden Company, yet somehow Viserys had found more money for food, he couldn't have done that without stealing something. Then suddenly men belonging to a Magister had sort them out in the hovel they were currently living in, it couldn't be coincidence. Daenerys knew the money could not have been obtained by hard work, Viserys would not work, and refused to allow her to work either, it was 'beneath them'. For the last week all that had been beneath her had been a dirt floor… it had broken something inside of Viserys to sell their mother's crown, and they had survived on that coin for as last as they could, the feast for the Golden Company had been one last desperate attempt by Viserys to gain an army, and it had failed. At thirteen years of age Daenerys was becoming keenly aware that the only thing Viserys had left to sell was her.

Was that what he was doing? Selling her to the Magister? Slavery was forbidden in Pentos, wasn't it? She was sure it was, yet as her eyes caught sight of the many slimmer men with spears that guarded the walls and gates of the Manse she wasn't so sure.

"Those are Unsullied," Viserys whispered, clearly impressed. "They are trained from a young age, very fast and well disciplined, some say they do not feel pain, they are very expensive." Viserys was always impressed by shows of wealth and power.

"Aren't Unsullied slaves?" Daenerys whispered. "Viserys, I'm scared." She tried to clutch at his arm but he pushed her away.

"Stop that," He snarled. "You're embarrassing me. You are a princess of House Targaryen, act like it. If we want Illyrio's help we have to show him that we are worthy of it."

'We' he had said 'we' not 'I', maybe he wasn't planning to sell her? Daenerys shivered and drew in on herself, she did not dare reach for Viserys again, fear wrapped it's cold hand around her heart and made her shiver despite the heat, or was that hunger? After so many years of running they were desperate, starving. Yet she did not trust this lavish, fortified house, she did not trust this strange man, whom she had never met, how could she? How could Viserys? After so many years of running and being afraid how could he trust this stranger? Why did this man want to help them? and what did he want in return? Yet Viserys seemed confident, and they were broke and desperate. Maybe it was a trap? Maybe this was a fancy prison? But was a fancy prison better than being hungry with no roof over your head? Yes. Maybe she was tired of being afraid?

As they moved towards the main doors Viserys pinched her, hard. "Stand up straight," He hissed. "And smile, smile or I'll hurt you later."

Daenerys did her best to fix a nervous smile on her face, beautiful women, barely clad, opened the double doors wide, some had the copper skin of the Dothraki and dark almond eyes, others the yellowish skin and slanting eyes of those from beyond the Jade Gates. All had wide copper collars around their necks, slave collars. Viserys looked at their half-veiled breasts and short skirts and smiled, a firm hand placed on the centre of Daenerys' back. "This is our new home, for now." He whispered in Daenerys' ear. "The Magister is going to help us."

"Why?" Daenerys whispered back.

Viserys laughed. "Because that is what intelligent wealthy men do. Illyrio will help me get back what was stolen, in hopes that he will have my favour in the future."

They were shown to lavish rooms and offered baths, food, and clean clothes. Women wearing thick copper collars attended Daenerys, they trimmed her ragged nails and untangled her knotted hair. Only once she was deemed 'presentable' was she taken to meet her mysterious benefactor. Illyrio Mopatis was a large man with an easy smile, his fingers sparkled with heavy gemstones and heavy gold chains with gems, some as large as eggs, hung around his neck and covered half of his chest. His clothes were the finest that Daenerys had ever seen. He took her hand and kissed it lightly as he greeted her. His hands were very soft and it made Daenerys self-couscous of her poor appearance. He was exactly what Daenerys imagined a King would be, minus the crown.

If Illyrio looked like a King then Catelyn Mopatis looked like a Queen. Her auburn hair was done in an intricate style, with fine silver chains and gemstones woven through it. She had high cheekbones and a slim figure, which was accentuated by her exquisite clothing. She wore a heavy necklace of old Valyrian design, a priceless antique of Valyrian steel and emeralds, exquisite bracelets hugged the bear skin of both her upper and lower arms. Her silk skirt stopped at the knee, as was the Pentoshi style, and more jewellery encircled her legs from knee to ankle, her open sandals showed that even some of her toes had rings on them.

Their eldest daughter, Sansa, was eleven, only a couple of years younger than Daenerys, and beautiful beyond words, she was slim and beautiful like her mother, although she looked nothing like her father. Sansa had her mother's high cheekbones, albeit on a slightly longer face, where Catelyn's eyes were a clear river blue, Sansa's were a greenish blue, like rapids or water at the bottom of a waterfall. Where Catelyn's hair was a rich deep auburn, Sansa's was more red, and stunningly so. She wore less jewellery than her mother, but her clothing was just as exquisite, pearls were woven through her hair and silver graced her arms, fingers, toes, ankles, and neck.

The other three children were far younger, Minisa was four, she had strawberry-gold curls and green eyes. Illyum was three, his golden hair showed hints of red in certain lights and his eyes were a light blue. The youngest was another girl, Haleyna, she was two, with coppery hair and dark blue eyes. All three of the younger children had rounder faces, more like their father's, but maybe that was just because they were so young?

Dinner was a show of extravagance, a feast which put the display they had put on for the Golden Company to shame, and in that moment Daenerys understood why Viserys had failed. There must have been twenty roast chickens on the table, pheasants, quails, boar, it took four men to carry a slow roasted oxen into the room. There were bowls of fruit, cheese's, mountains of roast vegetables. Then there were the pastries and deserts, cakes, custards, the candied fruit and flowers. Despite having eaten only an hour or so before Daenerys's stomach rumbled at the smells and sight of the food.

Sansa giggled, then tried to disguise it as a cough, before reaching for a lemony tart, which she picked at delicately as Daenerys did her best to taste a bit of everything. Not only did Sansa look more like a princess than Daenerys felt, the girl was well spoken with perfect posture, she had played the High Harp for them before dinner and she recited a poem in High Valyrian afterwards. Later in the evening they snacked on lemon cakes and sweet tea, Daenerys ate more in one day than she had eaten in the last week, and that night she slept in a real feathered bed! If this was a prison then she was happy to stay.

~~/~~

The weeks passed and Daenerys found herself spending more and more time with Sansa, Sansa was captivated by Viserys and he played up to it, being nothing but charming in her presence, the girl blushed easily and that made Viserys happy… Viserys didn't hurt Daenerys when he was happy. For months things seemed to be going very well, then a slave told Viserys that Sansa wasn't Illyrio's daughter, but the daughter of Ned Stark… Viserys had his hands around Sansa's throat and Daenerys was screaming by the time Illyrio and Catelyn arrived. Two unsullied pulled Viserys off of Sansa and Daenerys tried to comfort her.

"Take your hands off of that traitor's daughter, sister!" Viserys demanded, seeming oblivious to the fact that two unsullied had him on his knees and a third had a sword aimed at his throat. "You know what they did to our father… you know what they did to our niece and nephew!"

"Ned had no part in Aegon or Rhaenys' deaths, nor could he abide by them." Catelyn replied, hugging her daughter fiercely.

Viserys started to yell again but Illyrio managed to calm the situation down, Illyrio sent away all of the slaves, apart from four unsullied, and Catelyn explained the version of events that she knew around the deaths of Rhaegar's children. Yet Viserys refused to accept it. Eventually, in what seemed like an act of desperation, Catelyn told them that they had another nephew… She told them that Rhaegar had annulled his marriage to Ella and married Lyanna in a secret ceremony in Dorne and that they had made a child together, a son. She told them about how Ned Stark had protected his nephew, lying even to her. Catelyn told them everything that she knew and begged Viserys not to hurt Sansa, Sansa just cried and rubbed her neck.

"No," Viserys whispered desperately. "No, it can't be true, if it were he would have the better claim."

"But not the better army." Illyrio replied. "You will have an army soon, I promise. Your nephew is not a true dragon, he doesn't even know who he is. He looks like a Stark, and has been raised to believe he is a Stark bastard, he has been raised under the name of Jon Snow, even if he were to learn the truth of his identity it would be a hard push to convince others of it. You are the blood of Old Valyria, and it serves my interests to put you on the Iron Throne."

"I will take back what they have stolen with fire and blood." Viserys hissed, still on his knees.

Illyrio nodded, smiled, and signalled for the guards to release him. "Let me show you what true power is." He said softly, he turned to one of the four Unsullied. "This conversation must be kept private, kill the other three." He instructed.

Daenerys watched in horror as the Unsullied in question slaughtered the other three, as the other three guards made no effort to protect themselves. Once it was done the Unsullied wiped his blade, then turned to Illyrio and bowed. "Will there be anything else, Magister?"

Illyrio nodded. "Yes," He replied, his face expressionless. "Now kill yourself."

Daenerys watched in horror as the Unsullied ended his own life, She heard Sansa whimper, and turned to see that the girl had buried her head in her mother's shoulder, she saw the fear in Catelyn's eyes as she looked at her husband, perhaps seeing him clearly for the first time.

"I want that." Viserys whispered, still on his knees. The desire in his voice made Daenerys shiver. "I want that," He repeated. "I want them to fear me, to tremble at my name. I want to punish them for all they have stolen from me, to bring them to their knees and put them in chains."

"Of course you do," Illyrio replied gently, almost compassionately, he offered Viserys a hand and drew him up to his feet. "But it is easier to win a war with allies. I will give you the North, the Riverlands, I will deliver you Dorne and the Reach, we will crush the Westerlylands and Stormlands, and force the Vale to abstain."

"And what do you want in return?" Viserys asked.

Illyrio gave him a fatherly smile. "Come, let us discuss that in private." Illyrio replied.

As Illyrio led Viserys away Catelyn let out a sob. "Seven help me, what I have done?" She whispered. "Father, what have we done?" Catelyn shakily pulled herself to her feet, and then Sansa, leading the girl away and leaving Daenerys utterly alone.

Daenerys didn't remember how she made it back to her bed chambers, her head was spinning and her clothes were dirty. She stood silently as the slave girls stripped her and led her towards her bath, the bath was steaming, one of the servants turned away to get something and Daenerys stepped in.

"No, lady, it's too hot!" The servant girl called out, but Daenerys ignored her, letting the scalding water wash over her body and clear her head.

For so long Daenerys had been alone in the world, save for Viserys, he was all she had, and he hated that he was stuck with her. He'd marry her one day, she knew that, he'd marry her and expect her to give him dragon sons, would he beat her if she gave him daughters? Probably. Daenerys watched the steam rise off of the water as the thoughts whirled around in her head, one of Rhaegar's children was alive, a son! A Targaryen in hiding, just like them. But he wasn't like them, not really, he had a home, a family, and he looked like a Stark. The only Stark Daenerys knew was Sansa, as the servants washed her hair she imagined a tall man with high cheekbones, bluish eyes and reddish-album hair, his shoulders were wider than Viserys. In her mind's eye she reached out towards him, but he turned away walking between snows covered stone buildings, a giant wolf at his side.

Daenerys dunked her head under the now cooler water, but the image didn't fade, she felt her heart break as the man that looked like a Stark walked away from her and towards another woman, this woman was tall with short black hair and icy blue eyes. She was fierce and brave, dressed in leathers, like a man, and with a sword at her side. Somehow the vision moved to a strange forest, Daenerys had never seen such trees, the dark-haired woman was in a dress now, and the man had a crown on his head, not of gold, but a crown of swords, they were walking towards a large white tree with red leaves, red like Sansa's hair. The tree had a face carved into it, as Daenerys turned to look at the face in the tree the face turned and looked at her, she screamed, her mouth filling with water, and the vision faded.

The servants dragged her from the bath in a panic as she coughed and spluttered. "You're s'posed to wash in the water, not breath it." An older woman muttered as she wrapped a towel around Daenerys. "You'll die like that, lady, are you trying to kill yourself? We'll get beaten if you kill yourself."

Daenerys recognised the fear in the woman's eyes, but couldn't bring herself to respond. She let them move her, dry her, and dress her, then lead her to her bed, she sat on it as they put shoes on her feet and did her hair, then she sat on it some more and waited to be called to supper. But the supper bell never rang, hours later, after it had gotten dark, a servant brought a plate of food and a glass of milk to her. Daenerys sat alone in her room, her prison, and ate. Maybe it was a kindness? Maybe she wouldn't see Viserys again until he'd calmed down? Slowly she undid her hair and removed her dress, changing into the flimsy night dress they had given her. She slipped between the soft sheets and soon drifted off to sleep.

Late that night Viserys came to her room, drunk, and woke her. "Dany, Dany wake up." She looked at him groggily and sat up in bed. He sat on the bed beside her. "It's all going to be alright, Dany." He told her. He picked up a lock of her hair and started toying with it.

"What do you mean?" Daenerys asked, half asleep and confused. She desperately wanted to snatch her hair out of his hand and pull away, but she was afraid. She was always more afraid of him when he was drunk.

"This _Jon Snow_." Viserys muttered, "He's not going to take my inheritance from me, he's not a real dragon, Illyrio said that, remember, said he looks like a _Stark_. And he doesn't even know…" Viserys twirled her silver-gold hair around his fingers, his eyes lingered on the low cut of her night dress. She wanted to cover herself, but she was afraid to anger him. His hand moved from her face to her neck and then he put his hand around her throat. "You will never speak of him, do you understand?"

"Yes." Daenerys whimpered and nodded.

Viserys let his hand drop, brushing her breast slightly before pulling away. "I'm going to get it all back, Dany, everything that was taken from me, everything that is mine, and you're going to help me." He kissed her forehead. "My dear sister, you are going to help me." With that he stood up and left the room. The tears came quickly, but it was a long time before Daenerys was able to fall asleep again.

~~/~~

It amazed Daenerys how easy it was for Sansa to forgive Viserys. A few pretty words, a pretty gift (that had clearly been supplied by Illyrio) and she was back to doting on him. Within a week the only proof that the events had even happened was the dull busies fading around her neck, and the nervous glances her mother sent Viserys' way. Sansa never mentioned Jon Snow and Daenerys was afraid to, so they talked of other things.

Viserys seemed to again encourage Sansa's infatuation and, whist Catelyn expressed concern, Illyrio seemed to encourage it. Besides, Catelyn was often too busy with her three younger children to notice just how friendly Viserys and Sansa were getting. A little too friendly, not that Daenerys would ever dare say anything. Yet she was shocked that Viserys would do things such as blatantly touch Sansa's knee, or brush his fingertips over her upper arm, whilst Illyrio was watching. If Daenerys was shocked by Viserys she was horrified by Illyrio, Illyrio seemed to be encouraging Viserys interest in Sansa!

Sansa's twelfth name day arrived and Illyrio put on a huge celebration, Daenerys could only watch as Illyrio feed her wine and encouraged Viserys to dance with her. (Catelyn had been unwell and did not attend the party. As the evening drew late it was clear that Sansa was stumbling drunk, Daenerys wanted to pull her away and take her to bed, but Illyrio smiled brightly, caught her arm and shook his head. "Viserys will do it, what sweeter way to end a party for a young maid, than to have a future king tuck her into bed?"

Daenerys felt her throat grow dry in horror, Viserys wouldn't 'tuck Sansa into bed' he'd take advantage of her. Yet Sansa was all doting smiles as Viserys scooped her up into his arms and dropped a kiss on her cheek, and Illyrio's had was firm on her arm, Daenerys found no voice to argue. Daenerys had often heard, and sometimes seen, how Viserys treated the girls that he bedded, she wanted better for Sansa, but women don't have power, there was nothing she could do.

Sansa slept late the next day, and awoke with a headache, she seemed to have little memory of the night before, and Daenerys dared not speak of it. Catelyn's malady did not improve and Sansa soon became quiet and brooding. Viserys didn't like it, so avoided her, Daenerys spent more time with her to avoid Viserys. Sansa told Daenerys of her brothers and sister back at Winterfell (although she did not speak of Jon Snow) it seemed strange to Daenerys how bitter Sansa sounded when she talked about them, especially considering how much she seemed to love the three toddlers that were Illyrio's. Sometimes they would watch the three children play, Daenerys felt guilty that she had not talked with Sansa about the night of her name day, but relieved that Sansa did not seem aware of whatever had happened. But four days later, as they watched the children playing in one of the gardens, Sansa said something that suggested she might remember.

"If Viserys and I have children they'll look like that." Sansa whispered in a voice that sounded half hopeful, half fearful. "If we w-were to marry, I mean, and have children." She gave Daenerys a helpless look. "I.. I would never…"

Daenerys touched Sansa's arm softly and gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but Sansa wouldn't meet her gaze, Daenerys frowned. "Have you bleed yet?" She asked softly.

Sansa kept her eyes lowered and shook her head. "No." She whispered.

Daenerys bit her lip and nodded. "Then it's alright," She reassured. "Viserys'… name day gift…"

"He will be a king one day, Illyrio will make sure of it." Sansa whispered, Daenerys nodded. "Illyrio says he honoured me." Sansa still wouldn't meet her gaze.

Daenerys swallowed back the words she wanted to say, what good would they do? Better for the girl to believe Illyrio's words, believe that she had been honoured. "Yes," She whispered as she took Sansa's hand. "He honoured you."

"Will he marry me?" Sansa asked in a very small voice. "We'd be sisters then."

Daenerys looked at Sansa in surprise and Sansa smiled at her, Daenerys dropped Sansa's hand and returned her gaze to the children. "Targaryen's have wed brother to sister for hundreds of years, to keep our line pure," Daenerys replied quietly. "It is more likely that he will marry me than you."

Sansa pushed herself to her feet quickly. "I… I need to check on mother." She said softly, before Daenerys could reply she was walking away.

A few days later Catelyn passed away, she was not even an hour in the ground when Illyrio announced that it had been Catelyn's dying wish that Sansa marry Viserys. Daenerys didn't believe that for a moment, Catelyn had regarded Viserys with caution ever since he had attacked Sansa, but she kept her mouth shut. She watched in horror as Viserys rounded the table and wrapped his arm around a crying Sansa.

"Shh, you need rest, you want to look pretty for your wedding day, don't you?"

"When will we marry?" Sansa asked softly.

"Tomorrow." Viserys replied. "Now stop crying." He cupped her cheek and placed his thumb over her lips. "I'll lead you to bed, my queen."

_'My queen.'_ The words sent a shiver up Daenerys' spine, but was it fear or relief? Viserys was going to marry Sansa, he wasn't going to marry her! But if he didn't marry her then what would happen to her? She slept badly that night and when she did sleep it was filled with nightmares, the sun had barely dawned the next morning when Viserys and Sansa were wed in a small private ceremony on Illyrio's property, Illyrio preformed the ceremony himself. Viserys did not like that it was a small wedding, but Illyrio explained that it was for their protection. News of the wedding could not get back to the Usurper until they were ready, preferably _after_ Sansa had given Viserys a son, as Sansa was yet to have her first blood that could be some time. Not that Viserys seemed to care if she'd flowered or not, he 'honoured' her frequently.

Daenerys' greatest fears were confirmed less than ten days later, the day she was paraded in front of a Dothraki Horse Lord, dressed only in a flimsy silk dress that left her feeling naked. The Horse Lord, Khal Drogo, did not speak a word, his eyes ran over her like a man looking to buy a horse, and like a horse she was sold. Daenerys found that she feared this man even more than she feared Viserys, at least she could communicate with Viserys, she shook with fear as Illyrio and Viserys discussed the matter around her, as the wedding day was set. She pretended not to notice that Illyrio had set guards on her door to prevent Viserys from 'honouring her' before the wedding, just as she pretended not to notice Sansa's bruises.

~~/~~


	9. Part 8: Arya

Part 8: Arya

The letter was from Sansa, that was the first indication that something was very wrong, it had arrived with a shipment of aged cheeses and exotic fruits and spices. Arya looked at the letter blankly as she stood surrounded by creates of avocados, eggfruit, and passionfruit, she stared past the letter at jars upon jars of cocoa liquor and cocoa butter, sacks filled with ginger, ossame, nardus and, cardamom…

"Lady Arya?" Alys Karstark asked, concern evident on her face as she looked up from a crate of silks from Dorne.

Several moons ago House Dayne had offered a small fortune for one intact Dothraki Stallion to bread against some Sand Stead mares, and her Lord Father had obliged. It was an eighteenth name day gift for Lady Allyria Dayne. Lord Stark had agreed and the youngest sibling of Ashara, the youngest sibling of Ser Arthur, had come to select the Stallion herself. It was the first time an ungelded Dothraki horse had left the North. Arya could still remember the day Lady Allyria and her guards had arrived, she'd never seen so much purple! Allyria was tall and slender, with a heart shaped face and dark, almost black eyes, much like Jon's, the purple of Allyria's cloak made her eyes look almost a dark indigo. The two could have passed for siblings, both were dark haired and dark eyed, although Allyria was taller than Jon she was shorter than Robb. Allyria certainly looked more like a Stark than Sansa did, and the rumours that Jon might be Ashara's had resurfaced. But Allyria had quashed them with a musical laugh. "Jon Snow is not my nephew." She had announced loudly and clearly, she'd smiled at the sceptical looks. "He is not my _brother_ either, for anybody wondering if I was actually conceived at Harrenhal." That had been enough to silence most. Trade was always good with Dorne, but it had gotten even better since then, every Dornish House seemed to want to gain Father's favour, in hopes of getting their hands on Dothraki horses, the latest pile of silks were a gift from House Martell.

"Lady Arya?" Alys repeated again, drawing Arya from her thoughts. "Is all well?"

"No," Arya replied, holding the letter out to Alys. "I… it's a letter from Sansa."

Alys frowned and took the letter inspecting it. "This is addressed to your Lord Father." Alys pointed out in a somewhat chiding voice.

Alys was five years older than Arya, and sometimes she chided Arya as if she was a child, but Arya wasn't a child, she was the Lady of Winterfell, in a few moons time she'd be eleven and that was almost old enough to marry. "It wasn't sealed." Arya replied as if that explained everything, surely it did?

Alys' frown deepened. "Still…"

"Read it." Arya instructed.

Alys shook her head, her brown plats swinging around her face. "I really shouldn't," She started to argue. "It's not addressed to me, it's not addressed to you-"

"Read it." Arya repeated, as anger started to creep into her voice. This time the words were not a request, but a command. Alys seemed to notice the change in her voice, the change in her posture, the older girl nodded and started to read the letter. Jorelle Mormont and Mya Stone, having both noticed the commotion, made their way over towards Arya.

"What's wrong?" Jorelle asked, her hand instinctively moving to the sword on her hip.

Arya's left hand moved to her own sword, gaining comfort at the touch of the Weirwood handle. Frostbite the blade was called, Jeyne Poole said she'd never be allowed it if her mother was here, Jeyne Poole was an idiot. Arya didn't need a mother to know that Jeyne had been stupid to get herself pregnant to Harry Arryn, Jeyne seemed to have it in her head that Harry would marry her and take her off to be the Lady of the Vale. Maester Luwin had offered her moon tea, and her father had encouraged her to drink it, but Jeyne had refused.

Arya took a breath and released her sword, it was a beautiful sword, lighter than most, but perfect for her. The guard itself was castle forged steel, worked with blue moonstone, creating blue frost roses. The blade was also castle forged steel, it was narrower than most short swords, but slightly longer, and it had two shunts running down it, that was what made it so light. Mikken had made the blade itself, but an old blacksmith, in service to House Royce, had inscribed First Men runes on the blade between the shunts. The inscription translated to 'Nothing burns like frost bites.' The handle was carved from the Heart Tree in the Winterfell Godswood, Father had said that he wanted her to always have a part of Winterfell with her, even though one day she would marry and take her husband's name, she would always be a Stark. Roses had been carved into the base of the handle where it met the guard, but the practical part of the pommel had been left relatively plain, then perhaps that was because weirwood was only workable for a very short period of time before turning as hard as stone?

Arya watched numbly as Alys passed the letter to Jorelle with a shaking hand. "Lady Catelyn Tully Stark Mopatis is dead." Alys declared.

"Catelyn _Mopatis_ is dead?" Jorelle questioned. Arya noticed how both women named the woman that was her mother differently, Alys using a title designed not to offend, and Jorelle confronting the truth head on. She watched as Jorelle carefully refolded the letter. "This was written three moons ago, we should take it to Maester Luwin." Jorelle advised.

Arya nodded. "No hurry, Father won't be back for hours, lets finish with the shipment first."

Arya frowned as she continued to sort through the shipment, the parsnips had been poorly packed, they had gotten wet and some were going rotten, she called some servants over to separate the good from the bad and see if the bad could be salvaged for planting. The grain looked better… her mother was dead, Arya could barely remember the woman's face, she wondered if Sansa would come home now? Would Sansa become the Lady of Winterfell and be the one that always had to stay behind? That crate needed to go to the forge, and this one to the masons… this one was for the orphanage at Wintertown… if it was Sansa's choice would she make Jeyne Poole send her baby to the orphanage when it was born? No, Father would never allow that. Arya's fingers brushed over the smooth hilt of Frostbite again, mother was never coming back… hopefully Sansa would stay in Pentos, she could keep her High Valyrian poetry and pretty dresses, she could keep her High Harp. Arya had a sword and an orvik (a whip) and a kohol made of zhavorsa bone (dragon bone bow). Madatti had made the orvik for her, and Zirqi had taught her how to use it.

It was late morning by the time the shipment was sorted, Arya dismissed her hand maidens until lunch, collected up all of the relevant shipping documents and letters, including Sansa's letter, and set off in search of Maester Luwin. She found him in the kitchens, supplying freshly picked primrose greens and flowers from the Godswood to Gage, the head cook, and testing the pottage. Maester Luwin had a taste for pottage, simple as the dish was, he'd often told Arya that it reminded him of his childhood. Luwin claimed that with the right herbs a good pottage could beat even the best of Gage's steak and kidney pies, but Arya wasn't so sure. Either way, it was a good thing Layi worked in the kitchens, Gage seldom knew what to do with the strange foods and spices that Illyrio constantly sent as gifts. Layi was from Essos, and food had tasted much better since she had arrived, she was a former Dothraki slave whom had worked in Illyrio's kitchens until her husband had purchased her freedom and brought her to Winterfell. Arya liked Layi, Layi had introduced her to Cacao, not the sweet candy chocolate like the traders sometimes brought to impress high born children, but proper spiced chocolate, rich and dark and bitter.

"Lady Arya." Maester Luwin greeted warmly, he gave a small bow as Arya entered the kitchens.

"Maester Luwin, Gage." Arya acknowledged. "I've just been checking through the shipment."

Gage's eyes lit up at that. "Anything interesting, Lady Stark?"

"More spices from Illyrio," Arya replied, clutching the papers nervously. "And this." She quickly shoved the letter from Sansa into Maester Luwin's hands, leaving him slightly startled. "I… it wasn't sealed." She said softly. "It's also three moons late, Sansa wrote it just after her twelfth name day."

"Lady Sansa?" Luwin murmured, he opened the letter and hastily skimmed over it. "Lady Arya, I… I am so sorry…"

Luwin's response made Arya uncomfortable so she did her best to ignore it. "You'll want to give the letter to Father, and these…" She shoved the rest of the documents into his hands. "There's something from Lord Arryn," She frowned. "And another with no symbol on the seal." She muttered as she juggled the papers. "There's a letter from House Martell, they've sent silks as a gift…"

Luwin nodded. "Very generous, we will need to reply, of course, they will expect some sort of gift in returned. I… a letter will need to be sent to Riverrun too, a rider, I think, not a raven. I'm sure they haven't heard, if they had…"

"You'll take care of it then?" Arya asked.

"Of course, you were right to bring this to my attention." Luwin placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Lady Arya, your mother-"

"I don't remember my mother." Arya replied. "Not really, I… I need to see to Blacksword, I haven't groomed him today." She turned intending to walk out of the kitchens, but Luwin's voice stopped her.

"You may not have known your mother, young lady, but I did." Luwin said calmly. "And I know that leaving Winterfell was the hardest thing she ever did. I was there, at Riverrun, the day she was engaged to Brandon, and the day she learnt of his death. I was there at her wedding, and I brought Robb into this world. I travelled north with her, and watched as she struggled to adjust to your Northern ways, I struggled also. I brought Sansa and you into this world, I wasn't there the day that Bran was born, I don't know what happened down in those Crypts, but I know it changed both of them. Your father is no more innocent than your mother, and your mother is no more to blame than your father. I don't know what the jealous dead whispered to them as Bran forced his way into this world, and I don't care to. What I do know is this; you cannot blame her and exonerate him, you are far too intelligent for such small thinking, your mother did love you, Arya, look how many letters she wrote you, did you ever write one back?"

"A couple," Arya admitted. "When I was younger, but I never knew what to say." She turned and exited the kitchens as hurriedly as she had entered it, she wasn't meaning to be rude, she simply had other things she needed to do, or at least that was what she told herself as she rushed towards the inner stables.

She wanted to be sad, or angry, or … something, but she just felt numb. The truth was that she didn't really remember her mother, and none of the memories of her sister were good ones. Her hand again brushed the Weirwood handle of the short sword at her side, she was only permitted to wear her blade when she was the acting Stark at Winterfell, which she was today, as Father and her brothers were away dealing with a Night's watch deserter. She had been gifted the sword on her tenth name day, as a sign of the increasing responsibilities that she was taking on around the keep as Lady Stark. She preferred the title the Dothraki had given her, Ver Zolat Ivezh: Wild Little Wolf, but she liked being in charge of the Keep, it was a big responsibility. Jeshi said it was her duty as a Khalakki, Jeshi should know, she had been a Khalakki once, a princess, before she had been a slave, but she wasn't a slave anymore so Arya called her 'Khalakki' sometimes. If Arya was a Khalakki then so was Sansa, and she was older.

If Sansa came back would Mya, Alys and Jorelle become _her_ handmaidens instead of Arya's? Arya hoped not, Alys had finally picked up a practice sword and started training with her in the past year, and in return Arya had agreed to spend an hour practicing her stitching each evening, after all, Maege Mormont said being able to stich up wounds was important. Arya continued to let her thoughts wander as she groomed the young colt. Blacksword was a beautiful Dothraki horse, he was a darker version of his father, dark grey with black point markings and black socks. It had taken her months of work to be able to ride him, and she was the only person that could. Most people spoke to their horses as they groomed them, but Blacksword didn't seem to like that, he preferred gentle touches and silence. She was almost done when she heard somebody leading another horse in. She frowned, most people didn't use this stable, it was for Stark horses (and Theon and Harry's horses) only. But when she looked up it was Harry, leading his dappled gelding into its usual stall. Harry hadn't noticed her.

"Good boy, Surefoot, you've done me well." Harry whispered.

"You should speak to him in Dothraki." Arya said cheekily, she was sure he jumped a little at her voice.

"And good day to you, little ver." He replied giving her a mock bow.

They talked for a while, and she helped him with his horse, then they joined Alys, Jorelle and Mya for a light lunch of fresh warm bread, runny cheese, cold cut meats, and fruit. (Gage also provided some freshly made primrose honey.) Harry regaled them with tales of the Vale, though Alys seemed to laugh a little too hard at his stories. Harry was telling a particularly colourful story, one that caused Alys to blush, when Maester Luwin interrupted them.

"Forgive my interruption, I have an important communication from the Vale, Lord Arryn, would you please come with me immediately?"

Harry dropped the eggfruit in his hand and stood up quickly. "I'm not Lord Arryn yet." He muttered before giving Arya a quick bow. "Lady of Winterfell, forgive me." With that he turned and followed Luwin out of the room.

After lunch Arya and her hand maidens headed to the training yards, where they were met by three of the Dothraki women and half a dozen guards, to work up an appetite for dinner, but they'd hardly started practicing when Harry approached, looking grim, his eyes red as if he'd been crying.

"Forgive me, Lady Stark, I must return to the Vale immediately." Harry announced. "I…" His gaze flickered to Mya for a moment, then returned to Arya. "Best you hear why from your Lord Father, but I must go."

Mya took a hesitant step forward. "Is it something to do with Lord Arryn?" She asked.

A single tear escaped Harry's right eye and ran down his cheek. "Yes." He replied. "He took ill about a week ago, ravens were sent, apparently, but it seems I out-rode most of them."

"I'm coming with you." Mya declared.

Harry's expression hardened. "No, you're not." He replied firmly. "Your place is here."

"Anha efichisak haz yeroon!" Mya disagreed. "If Lord Arryn is sick, or injured, I can help! What's happened? Please tell me."

"I.." Harry's voice trembled, then he squared his shoulders, smoothed down his doublet, and stood up straighter. "There is nothing you can do to help, Mya. It is kind that you want to, but it's too late, Lord Jon Arryn is dead. I … I am Lord of the Vale now, and I am asking you to stay here, where you are loved."

Arya immediately threw her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as she could. "You're loved too." She whispered into his chest. "Dothras chek." She told him as she pulled back. _Ride well._

Harry nodded. "Hajas, Lady Stark." He replied. "I do not know when I will be able to return to Winterfell, train hard, do not let your brothers grow complacent in the training yard, keep your whip on you at all times. And, most importantly of all, don't marry anybody that won't spar with you." He gave her a wink, then turned and walked away.

~~/~~

It was late-afternoon when her father and brother's returned, and to her amazement they all had puppies in their arms. It seemed wrong, mother was dead, Jon Arryn was dead, yet here her brothers were, laughing and joking with puppies in their arms. Arya immediately put her training sword away and went over to investigate.

"Arya, look what we found!" Robb called out as he dismounted.

Arya tried to smile, but she could feel that it didn't reach her eyes. "I thought you went to execute a deserter from the Nights Watch." She said softly.

"We did." Theon replied with a smirk, he had a shaggy black pup with bright green eyes in his arms. "We also found puppies."

"They're direwolf pups." Jon said, his expression becoming serious. "Their mother is dead."

_Their mother is dead._ The words weighed heavily on Arya, it almost felt like an omen. _Their mother is dead and so is ours._ She thought sourly, what was it that Old Nan said about things always happening in threes? But she wouldn't let herself linger on the thought, instead she took a closer look at Jon's pup, it was so different to all the others, white with red eyes, it reminded her of a weirwood. "White wolf." She said quietly, patting the pup's head.

Jon nodded. "Just like me." He whispered.

"I like him." Arya said softly.

Jon frowned at her. "Arya, what's wrong?"

Arya shook her head and forced herself to smile. "Show me the other puppies?"

Robb and Bran brought their puppies over eagerly, Robb's was a smoky grey with yellow eyes, Bran's was almost silver, but had the same yellow eyes as it's brother. Father had a pup in one hand, he reached out to Jory, taking the one that he was holding as well, and approached Arya. "They're a big responsibility, there are six pups, four boys and two girls. It has been decided that the boys will have one each, including Theon, an iron-black direwolf for my Iron-born son." Arya noticed that Theon's shoulders squared and he stood taller at the statement.

"They're beautiful." She said quietly.

"They are also dangerous." Her father replied. "You will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves, and if they die you will bury them yourselves. Do you believe that is a responsibility you can accept, Arya?"

Arya nodded and raised her chin. "Yes." She looked more carefully at the two pups in her father's hands, one was smaller than the other. The smaller one had light grey fur, and the same yellow eyes as Robb and Bran's direwolves, but it was the other pup that drew Arya's attention. It was perhaps the largest pup of the litter, grey fur and dark golden eyes, it was the eyes that caught her attention. She reached out to it and the pup licked her hand. "I like this one's eyes." She decided, Ned let her take the pup and she hugged it tightly, burying her head into its fur, the scent was somehow comforting. After a few moments she raised her head and looked at the other puppy, it was more delicate than the puppy she was holding, delicate and pretty, like Sansa. "This one is meant for Sansa, yes?" She asked softly.

Ned nodded. "If she were here it might be," There was a touch of sadness in his voice, there always was when he spoke of Sansa. " Theon suggested that I keep her, and name her Lady Stark, since I refuse to re-marry." Ned smirked. "But Robb suggested that you should have two, something of a reward for all of the work you do as the Lady of Winterfell. What do you think?"

Arya thought of the note from Sansa, there was a good chance that with mother dead Sansa would be coming home, if that happened she would be expected to give Sansa one of the direwolves. "I… I think that this one should be mine, but that I should help you look after that one, and if Sansa returns it would then go to her."

Ned smiled, he kissed her forehead. "Good answer." He pushed the smaller pup into her arms and Arya clutched it tightly.

"Father, Sansa sent a letter." Arya said quietly. "Maester Luwin has it..." She swallowed thickly. "It wasn't sealed."

"Arya?" Her father looked at her with concern and she knew she had all of her brothers' attention.

She hugged both pups closely. "I may not be looking after Sansa's pup for very long." She whispered, her voice sounding small even in her own ears.

"Why?" Robb demanded angerly. "Has she had enough of Pentos and decided that it's not good enough for her either?"

Arya met his angry gaze with sad eyes. "Mother is dead." She heard herself speaking the words, but it didn't feel as if she was saying them, it was like they were coming from someone else. "She died three moons ago, Sansa wrote, but the letter only just arrived.

Ned frowned. "Three moons, we've had two shipments with items from Illyrio in that time, I know we don't get letters often, but three moons seems like a very long time. Are you sure the letter was from Sansa? Are you sure your mother is really dead?"

"I'm sure," Arya replied firmly. "Just as I'm sure there is a letter waiting for you from Jon Arryn. Mother is dead, and-"

"We have no mother." Robb declared. "_Sansa's_ mother is dead. And don't expect her to come rushing back, she likes her new family better. C'mon, these pups need feeding." With that Robb started walking briskly towards the kitchens.

Arya hesitated, returning her attention to Father as her brother's slipped into the kitchen. "There is something else, Harry arrived today."

Father frowned. "Where is he?"

Arya chewed her lip. "That's the thing, he arrived, groomed his horse, we had lunch, then Maester Luwin needed to talk to him. An hour later he was gone."

"Gone?" Father questioned.

"Rushing back to the Vale." Arya replied. "Father… Jon Arryn…" She choked on the words. "Harry says he fell ill about a week ago, apparently they were sending ravens, but Harry rode ahead of them all, he only got the one that was sent here."

"Jon Arryn is ill?" Ned asked, concerned.

Arya shook her head and hugged the puppies closer. "No," She whispered. "Jon Arryn is dead, Harry is Lord of the Vale now."

She watched as grief washed over her father like a wave, a few moments later he had schooled his expression and was standing straight. "I have to go speak with Maester Luwin." He whispered, he hugged her tightly, albeit briefly, then let go of her. "You've done well today, but this is not your burden to bear. Go, follow your brothers, feed those poor pups, let me tell them about Jon Arryn." Arya nodded and did as her father had bid her.

Gage gave them bowls of milk, and Layi showed them how to dip the corners of towels in them and let the pups chew out the milk, she claimed it was like feeding baby goats. They didn't talk about Sansa, or Mother, Arya didn't mention Harry or Jon Arryn, but they did talk about direwolf names. Theon named his 'Kraken', which Arya thought was about as silly as naming him something like 'Shaggy Dog', Jon named his Ghost, the pup didn't make a single noise the who time that they were feeding the pups. Robb's pup kept running around in circles and tugging at the towel, wanting to play. Robb decided to name him 'Grey Wind'. Bran couldn't decide on a name and rejected every suggestion made. Arya named hers Nymeria, after the Warrior Queen, Theon argued but Jon pointed out that anybody who would name a direwolf 'Kraken' couldn't criticise. That almost led to a fight but Robb calmed it down.

"What about the other pup?" Robb asked, pointing to the smaller female.

Arya looked at the pup for a while and thought. "Theon's right," She finally said quietly. "Lady Stark."

Theon looked over at her with surprise. "What? You're actually agreeing with me on something?" He scoffed. "That was only a joke, besides, 'Lady Stark' is a bit of a mouthful, don't ya think?"

"How about just 'Lady' then." Bran said quietly.

Everybody agreed, then went back to suggesting names for Bran's pup, he rejected them all. They were still in the kitchen two hours later when father came looking for them, his expression grim.

"Robb, Jon, I need to talk to you in private please." He said quietly.

Ghost was asleep on Jon's lap and Grey Wind was watching Kraken's wagging tail like he was about to attack it. Robb and Jon shared a look then Robb stood and scooped up Grey Wind, he held his free hand out for Ghost. Jon carefully passed the sleeping pup to his brother before standing, once he was on his feet he took the pup back. Robb and Jon were always doing that, communicating without words, Alys said that they behaved like twins, but Arya had never known twins so she didn't know.

Theon scowled as he watched them leave then turned his attention to Arya. "You should take that thing off now that we're back, you know the rules." He told her, indicating Frostbite.

Arya nodded, she stood up awkwardly with a puppy in each arm and started to head towards the door to go put her sword away, Bran quickly jumped to his feet as well, startling his puppy. "I'll get the doors for you." He offered.

Arya smiled at him, she hated it when Theon got jealous of Robb or Jon, and she knew Robb hated it too. Whatever Father needed to talk to Robb and Jon about it clearly didn't concern Theon. She gave Theon a pointed look as she left. "Yer affesi anna." She proclaimed just before Bran closed the door. _You make me itch._

~~/~~


	10. Part 9: Mya

Part 9: Mya

Mya frowned as the three direwolf puppies whimpered and cried behind Lady Arya's shut door. Lord Bran had left his puppy with Lady Arya's two as he hadn't wanted it to be alone. Mya wanted to ask Lady Arya if her siblings were aware of Lord Arryn's death yet, but Lord Bran had been with Lady Arya constantly, Lord Bran had even stayed while Mya had fixed up Arya's hair. Unable to focus on her grief, Mya had decided to focus on the direwolf pups instead, it was likely the best thing for Lady Arya anyway. One of the pups whimpered again and Mya rested her hand on the door handle, instinctively wanting to return to the room and scoop the pup up. Mya wasn't high born, she wasn't important, nobody would miss her presence at supper. "I'll stay with them."

Lady Arya's response was immediate. "No," The little Stark looked up at Mya with her intense grey eyes. "They need to learn, and I… I want you at supper." So the young Stark Lord's didn't know about Lord Arryn yet, or Lord Bran did not at least. Lady Arya continued to speak hastily, as if trying to offer Lord Bran another reason why Mya shouldn't stay behind. "Father says we need to care for, and train them, ourselves." Lady Arya frowned. "They will be alright for a few hours."

Mya nodded. "I'm, sure they will, my Lady." She allowed her hand to drop away from the door. The pup whimpered again, she was sure it was the same pup, the smallest one. Lady, the pup intended for Lady Sansa, how much would change when the estranged Stark daughter returned? Mya did not know.

Lady Alys Karstark gave the door a disapproving look. "They should be in the kennels, they're not even toilet trained." Lady Alys Karstark was always fussing about the little things like that, it wasn't even as if it was her that would be cleaning up any mess. Lady Jorelle Mormont, who was standing just outside of Lady Alys' line of sight, rolled her eyes.

"No!" "They're not going in the kennels!" Lord Bran and Lady Arya's replied were simultaneous.

"Of course not." Lady Jorelle assured. "Now come, or we'll be late for supper."

The five of them made their way to the Great Hall in silence. Lady Arya and Lord Bran entered the Great Hall together, then Lady Alys and Lady Jorelle, and Mya made up the rear. The hall was full with guards and servants alike, Lord Stark always made a point of sharing the evening meal with as many members of the castle as possible, and the seat to the left of him was always reserved for a servant. Mikken, the head blacksmith, had sat to Lord Stark's left yesterday, and today the Steward, Vayon Poole, had the honour, surprisingly his pregnant daughter was beside him.

Jeyne Poole was a vain young woman, three years older than Lady Arya, she considered herself beautiful and Lady Arya plain, but the girls looked remarkably similar. Jeyne's face was slightly rounder, and Arya's was slightly longer, Jeyne's hair was naturally curly, and a couple of shades lighter than Arya's dark straight hair, but the eyes were where the biggest difference lay. Jeyne's eyes were a dark brown whereas Arya's were grey as steel, grey as flint. Jeyne thought something of herself for bedding Lord Harry, and had likely heard he had returned and pushed her father to get her a seat at the head table. But Lord Harry had come and gone, and if the silly girl thought he was making her Lady of the Vale she had much to learn.

As Mya looked around the table, one spot was conspicuously vacant, it was the seat belonging to Jon Snow. Lord Stark looked sombre, the worry lines that made him look older than his years somehow seemed deeper tonight, and Lord Robb's body language also showed that something was very wrong, perhaps Lord Stark had already informed his oldest boys about Lord Arryn? She wanted to ask were Jon was, but that wasn't her place, luckily Lady Arya did it for her.

"Where's Jon?" Lady Arya demanded, frowning, her gaze moved from her Lord Father to Lord Robb and back again as she expectantly waited for an answer.

Lord Stark met her gaze and gave her an apologetic look. "Jon doesn't feel like joining us for supper tonight, and I have given him permission to take his meal privately." He said quietly. Sadness and regret mixing in his features, it reminded Mya of Lord Arryn somehow, both men were so full of sorrow and regret… was that the cost of war?

"Why? Is he sick?" Lady Arya asked, the concern for Jon clear in her young face. Mya hoped that Lady Arya would go to check on Jon, if Lady Arya went then Mya would be permitted to follow. Yes, Jon was a claimed bastard, and she was an unclaimed one, but there was still an unspoken bond between them, a mutual understanding that came from wearing the label of 'Bastard', not that Lord Stark tolerated the use of the B word. Lady Arya stood up from the table, seemingly intent on going to find Jon.

"Arya, sit." Lord Stark commanded.

Vayon Poole looked uncomfortable but kept his thoughts to himself. Lady Arya gave her father a displeased look before sitting back down as loudly as possible, her displeasure obvious. No wonder the Dothraki women had given her the name **_Ivezh Zolat Ver_****: **Wild little wolf.

"Arya," Lord Robb said quietly. "Jon's alright, or he will be, he just needs to be alone tonight." There was a sadness to his words, but when he glanced at Lord Stark there was also a hint of anger. Why would he be angry?

"Why?" Lady Arya demanded again.

"Because he just found out the truth about his mother." Lord Robb said quietly.

"Robb…" Lord Stark cautioned.

"What?! Lord Robb demanded. "You don't think he has the right to be angry? You should have told him _years _ago! I understand why you didn't tell me, but he deserved to know the truth." Lord Robb was standing now, arms leaning on the table as he glared at his Lord Father. He took a breath and seemed to catch himself, standing up straight. "Lord Stark," he said addressing Lord Stark formally. "I seem to have lost my appetite, may I be excused?"

"No." Lord Stark replied. "We need to talk-"

"About the fact that Jon Arryn is dead, possibly murdered, and that King Robert is riding North as we speak to try and force you to be his Hand, as Lord Stannis has stepped down and retreated to Dragonstone." Lord Robb replied coldly. "_My_ _brother_ needs me, we can talk about this tomorrow."

"Wait, Lord Arryn is dead?" Jeyne Poole gasped in shock. "Poor Harry, where is Harry?"

"Jeyne, that's not your place." Her father cautioned her.

But Jeyne did not listen, she shook herself free of her father's hand and pushed herself to her feet, completely forgetting her place. "Where is Harry?!"

Mya watched the change in Lord Stark's eyes, most Lords would have shown anger, but he showed compassion. "Jeyne, sit." He instructed softly, she obeyed and he continued to speak. "Lord Harrold Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East, is riding home with haste to arrange Lord Jon Arryn's funeral, and then, likely his own wedding. I can write to him of your situation if you wish-"

Jeyne pushed herself to her feet again. "I should go to him, I should be with him-"

Vayon Poole grabbed his daughter's arm, yanking her back into her seat. "You're making a scene." He hissed.

"But I'm carrying his child!" Jeyne declared as she finally broke free of her father and regained her feet for the third time.

Vayon Poole found his feet as well. "That's about enough, young lady!" He turned to Lord Stark. "My Lord, forgive me." He then grabbed Jeyne by the elbow and began to drag her from the Great Hall, all the while Jeyne was yelling and screaming about how she was carrying Harry's child and he loved her.

"Well, that was embarrassing." Lord Theon scoffed.

"Ezas eshna gech ahilee!" Lord Robb scowled. _Find another hole to dig._ "Jeyne has a right to be upset, leave her alone." He returned his attention to Lord Stark. "Now may I be excused?"

Lord Stark gave Lord Robb an exasperated look. "Go, if you must."

Lord Robb nodded and turned wordlessly from the table. Bran had lots of questions about the King's visit and why Stannis had returned to Dragonstone. Apparently it had been some fallout regarding the King's mistress and her children. Bran had questions about Jon Arryn's death too… Jon Arryn was dead... Mya sniffed in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. Lady Jorelle touched her arm gently, a rare kindness from the usually abrupt Black Bear, bringing her attention back to the table, Bran was still asking questions.

"Is King Robert going to do what King Aegon IV did?" Lord Bran asked. "Is he going to legitimise all of his children? Is he going to legitimise Mya?" He… what? Mya froze in her seat, scarcely daring to breath, could King Robert be her father?!

Lord Stark paled at Bran's words, his expression careful. "What have I told you about listening to gossip Brandon?"

"Lord Bran, that's just fredrik, Mya is not King Robert's." Lady Alys said sharply.

"No it's not!" Lord Bran insisted. "I was climbing when I heard Father and Lord Arryn talking about it and Harry confirmed it!"

Mya's head was spinning, she had heard the rumours, but she had dismissed them as gossip, _fredrik_, as the Dothraki women said. She wasn't King Robert's, was she? Lord Stark was giving Lord Bran a lecture about climbing and eaves dropping, but he never _denied _that Mya was King Robert's… Mya had vague memories of her father, he had visited her many times when she was little… he used to throw her up in the air and catch her… she remembered that he had dark hair and blue eyes, and she remembered his laugh… she had recognised Lord Stark as being the quiet man who had always come with him…

"It doesn't matter who my father is," she said quietly. "My father never gave me a home, Lord Royce did, Lord Arryn did, Lord Stark did."

"Mya," There was a softness in Lord Stark's voice as he addressed her, but she didn't want to hear it, the last thing she needed was pity.

She shook her head and met Lord Stark's gaze. "As I said, Lord Stark, it doesn't matter." But it did.

Supper seemed to go on forever, finally Lady Arya started yawning and Mya quickly seized the opportunity to usher both her and Lord Bran to bed, Lady Alys and Lady Jorelle followed as well. The puppies had made a mess in the corner and Mya went to fetch a pail of water to clean it, but when she returned to the room Lady Arya took the pail from her hands and Lord Bran took the scrubbing brush and insisted on scrubbing.

"Lord Bran, let Mya-" Lady Alys started to say but Lord Bran cut her off.

"No, we are to care for them ourselves, Father said."

"Perhaps we could put some straw down where they went in case they have to go again." Mya suggested.

Lady Arya looked at her thoughtfully and nodded. "I'll-"

"I don't believe your Lord Father would mind me getting the straw for you." She excused herself from the room and made her way to the stables. By the time she returned, with a basket of clean straw, Lady Arya and her two puppies were already settled into bed. Mya made a small nest with some of the straw and put the rest of the basket by the door before bidding her lady goodnight.

Lady Arya lay curled up on her side, the larger of the two puppies had found its way under her chin and the smaller one was curled up behind her knees. She looked up at Mya sleepily as Mya adjusted one of the furs.

"Mya, will you check on Jon?" Lady Arya asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes, my lady." Mya replied and dropped a gentle kiss on Lady Arya's forehead. "Of course I will." Arya nodded and snuggled down into the bed, Mya did one last check of the room then blew out the candles. "Sleep well, Ivezh Zolat Ver." Mya said softly, then she picked up the basket and closed the door. She went to Lord Bran's room and made a little straw nest for his puppy before heading towards the wing that Robb, Jon, and Theon's rooms were in.

~~/~~

As Mya made her way to Jon's room she suddenly felt nervous, what if he didn't want her there? What if he told her to go away? What if he was already asleep? She nodded to a guard as she turned down the hallway that led to Robb, Jon, and Theon's rooms and was relieved to see light shining from under the door of Jon's room. She knocked on the door, and wasn't too surprised when it was Lord Robb who opened it.

"Mya." Lord Robb greeted with a gentle smile.

"Lord Robb," She replied, lowing her gaze. "I…" She thrust the basket of straw forward. "We made a little straw nest in both Lady Arya and Lord Bran's rooms for the puppies, we hope to use it as the start of their toilet training… I thought perhaps…"

Lord Robb nodded and took the basked from her. "That is very considerate, and a good idea, it looks like there is enough straw here for Jon, Theon, and me, thank you." He remained in the doorway, barring her path.

Mya took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, gathering her courage. "I'm worried about Jon, and so is Lady Arya, may I come in?" She asked meeting Lord Robb's gaze. She was well and truly overstepping her place, she knew that, but she also knew what it was like not to know the truth of your parentage.

Lord Robb hesitated and looked back into the room, Jon must have shown some sign that it was alright, Lord Robb opened the door wider and let Mya into the room. Jon's eyes were red-rimmed, as if he had been crying, and his knuckles were raw and bleeding as if he had been punching stone. There was an untouched plate of food on the table. (Jon had a Lord's room, large enough to accommodate a table and chairs as well as a large bed, wardrobe, and two chests of draws, and two large softer chairs by the hearth.) Two direwolf puppies were curled up on the bed, one grey, the other white as snow. Mya decided to focus on the puppies, she took a few steps towards the bed and reached out her hand tentatively. The white puppy uncurled itself and opened its eyes, red eyes, the pup sniffed her hand then licked it. Mya stroked her fingers through its soft fur.

"This is your one?" She asked Jon, half turning to look at him.

Jon nodded. "The outcast," He said quietly. "Like me."

"Jon, you're not an outcast." Mya replied in astonishment.

"I should be." Jon replied sadly. "If the truth of my parentage got out I'd be murdered just for being me."

Mya shook her head and took a step towards Jon. "That's just silly," Jon wasn't making any sense. "I'm sure Lord Stark had a good reason for keeping his secrets, but I cannot think of one possible person that your mother could be for that to make sense, your father-"

"He's not my father, he's my uncle." Jon whispered, he sounded so broken, before Mya could consider her actions she crossed the few steps between them and hugged him.

"Doesn't matter." She whispered as he desperately hugged her back. "Doesn't matter who sired you, Lord Eddard Stark is your father." She stroked Jon's back as he buried his face in her shoulder and cried.

"That's what I've been trying to tell him for hours." Lord Robb muttered.

After a few minutes Jon pulled back from the embrace seemingly embarrassed. "I, ah…"

"Let's get this sorted for the puppy, shall we?" Mya asked, taking the basket back from Lord Robb.

"Ghost." Jon muttered, "His name is Ghost."

Mya nodded. "It's a good name."

"Mine's Grey Wind," Lord Robb knelt down and helped Mya with the straw. "Theon named his Kraken, can you believe it?"

Mya pulled a face. "I'd believe almost anything of Lord Theon… will you…?" She indicated the basket.

Lord Robb nodded. "No need for you to go knocking on his door."

Mya nodded, she thanked them both and wished them a good sleep before dismissing herself. Whatever the truth was Jon was quite shaken, he would either tell her or not in time, all she could do was be his friend. But as she settled under her covers she found herself thinking about their conversation, and about the hug, Jon was almost as tall as her now, he was no longer a boy, he was becoming a man… a very handsome man.

~~/~~


	11. Part 10: Sansa

Part 10: Sansa

Sansa watched as it took three women to help Daenerys dismount from her horse, Daenerys lent on them heavily as she was led into her tent. Sansa scanned the hard faces of the surrounding Dothraki, her gaze finally resting on Khal Drogo. His expression showed nothing, but his eyes showed disappointment.

"She's weak, your Grace." Sansa said quietly to Viserys, she spoke in High Valyrian. "Dothraki do not respect weakness, Khal Drogo is starting to think she isn't what Illyrio said she was. You will not get your army until she stands strong and rides well, she is failing you. You should have been given the dragon eggs, not her."

"She's not a queen." Viserys replied, also speaking in High Valyrian. His accent was wrong, and his annunciation was off, a result of years of living basically on the streets without tutorage had caused a few Ghiscari words to seep in, but Sansa understood what he meant. "I was right to marry her off, but I want what I paid for."

"Then remind her that she needs to look strong by the time we reach the Dosh Khaleen, all Khal's bow to them, if Daenerys can be strong they will force Drogo to give you your army and more, my King."

Sansa watched as Viserys swiftly dismounted his horse and strode towards Daenerys' tent, good, that made him look strong. If Viserys looked strong then Sansa was safe. She had been so incredibly angry when Viserys had refused Uncle Illyrio's offer to stay in comfort at the Pentos Manse, but Uncle Illyrio had taken her aside and explained to her that she would need to gently guide her husband as to how to behave around the Dothraki, Sansa had learnt how to get what she wanted while appearing submissive, and what she wanted more than anything was to be Queen.

Uncle Illyrio had explained to Sansa that he had been preparing the way for her to be queen for years, he had shown her Rhaella's crown, which he had acquired when Viserys had been forced to sell it over a year ago, and promised her that one day it would be hers. She just needed to survive this, and give Viserys a son.

The sound of yelling in the tent was drawing attention, Sansa dismounted her horse fluidly and stood to her full height. He neck and back hurt, as did her thighs, but she would not show it. She unfastened her harp from the saddle bags and found a rock to sit on, she placed a blanket over it, to protect her dress, sat, and started to play. Slaves moved about and set up camp, but Sansa ignored them, she let her mind focus on the strings, slowly a crowd of Dothraki started to surround her, Khal Drogo among them. She closed her eyes, her fingers knew the strings, slowly she began to sing. The song was old and haunting, from the times of Old Valyria when House Targaryen was considered a minor House, it rose and fell like the swooping of dragons and Sansa's voice rose and fell with it, by the time she opened her eyes over a hundred riders were enchanted by it.

The tents were erected and the feasting area was set up, Viserys had returned and was standing, watching her play, the fragrance of cooking food made her stomach rumble and the sunset reflected magnificently off of Viserys' silvery hair. Khal Drogo, whom had been crouching, stood and offered her a hand, but her gaze was only for Viserys. He approached her and offered her his hand, not much larger than her own. She took it, letting him draw her up to her feet, he caught her lips with his own. When he pulled back Khal Drogo had turned towards the feasting area, they followed, and were offered seats near him, they were better seats than they had been given the night before. Daenerys did not join them, instead eating in her tent with her slaves.

There was feasting and dancing, and Sansa played her harp again, Viserys sat happily beside her watching eagerly as many of the men took dancing women right there on the dancing mats. She listened, but pretended not to hear, as Viserys lapped up Jorah Mormont's mistranslations of the Dothraki comments, she was starting not to trust Jorah. Sansa understood Dothraki, but she wasn't about to let on that she knew what was being said as the men commented about how Viserys did not deserve her, and what they wanted to do to her, as they murmured that Illyrio had sold Drogo the wrong bride... She felt Drogo's gaze on her and shifted closer to Viserys, accepting an offered drink of fermented mare's milk from one of the servants.

It was late when Viserys led her to their tent, and his touches were not gentle, but Sansa had drunk enough not to care… at least he was not an overly endowed man. Yet, as Viserys' slender fingers touched her she thought of Khal Drogo's broad hands and of how his eyes watched her. Sansa shivered, she would need to convince Daenerys to start joining the Khalasar for meals.

~~/~~

Days turned into weeks, Sansa worked hard to stay on both Viserys' and Daenerys' good side, a difficult balance. She spoke to Daenerys in Westrosi common, and to Viserys in Valyrian, that seemed to help placate her husband. Daenerys still would not take meals with them, but she was slowly becoming a stronger rider. Sansa and Viserys sat right beside Khal Drogo now, every night Sansa played her harp, and every night Khal Drogo watched her and drank, before going to his tent and taking his wife.

"I don't like how he looks at you." Viserys commented one night after he had drunk too much. Thankfully they were in the privacy of their own tent, Sansa did not trust that Jorah could not understand High Valyrian.

"You should take it as a complement, my King." Sansa replied quietly. "He is jealous of you, can you blame him?"

"No, but still…" Viserys protested.

Sansa touched his face and ran her fingertips through his silvery hair. "My King, let him look all he wants, we will use his men to take back what is rightfully yours, then we will kill them last, or sell them to the highest bidder. I have connections with both the Good Masters and the Wise. If your sister gives him daughters we can keep them to be mistresses to your sons, if she gives him sons they will never live to ride a horse. He is nothing more than a weapon, a tool, to be used for your gain."

Viserys touched her face, and then her flat stomach. "You will give me dragons." He whispered.

"I will give you dragons." She promised.

He wrapped his fingers in her hair. "I will not spare your father." He said coldly.

"Nor should you, he is a traitor." Sansa replied.

"And your brothers?" Viserys questioned, pulling her hair ever so slightly.

Sansa thought back to her last days at Winterfell. _"Sansa doesn't belong here… she doesn't fit."_ Robb had said. _"Let her have her pretty dresses, we're soldiers, she's not."_

"My brothers will kneel at my feet, or I will take the North from them." She said calmly.

"And… Jon Snow?" Viserys asked.

Sansa smiled. "Dark hair…" She ran her fingers through Viserys' silver locks. "Dark eyes…" She stroked Viserys' face and looked into his pale eyes. "Look of a Stark… if he tried to stake a claim nobody would believe him."

Viserys seemed to accept her answer, he ran his fingertips over her flat stomach again. "You still haven't had your blood." He said quietly.

"Maybe I will give you a son before I have my first blood, it is known to happen." Sansa replied quietly.

"I would like that." Viserys decided, then he claimed her lips with his own.

~~/~~

Weeks turned into months, finally they reached the Dothraki Sea, it was quite a sight to see if one cared for such things, Sansa did not. Yet Daenerys seemed awestruck, she forced the Khalasar to stop and dismounted her horse, she was riding better now, yet she still insisted on eating alone in her tent like a slave.

Viserys pulled his horse to a stop and glared at his sister angrily. "What the hells does she think she's doing?!" He snarled in High Valyrian, or at least that was what he tried to say, what he actually said was: Is it hells consider sister her actions?!

"Serving you." Sansa replied calmly.

"How is she serving me?!" Viserys snarled.

"She is showing strength, as you demanded her to." Sansa replied. "She is exerting control over the Khalasar, this is good, we will get more horses for this, more men to fight, and die, for you."

Viserys looked unconvinced. "They love her." He whispered as he looked at the faces of the Dothraki watching her.

"As we need them to." Sansa replied. "But we don't need them to love her too much, would you like me to steal her moment?"

Viserys nodded. Sansa dismounted and untied her harp from the saddle bags, she found a moss covered stone and carefully placed her sitting blanket over it. She started to play, softly at first, like the gentle role of waves on the shore, or the soft breath of a summer breeze. She let the music roll out over the Khalasar, this was the story of the dragon, Terrax, and his rider, Jaenara Belaerys, who explored Sothoryos for three years yet never found its end. Sansa played for over an hour, the melody rising and falling. Daenerys came to stand in front of her, yet Sansa continued to play. Daenerys sat in the grass and made a crown of flowers, placing it on her head, yet Sansa continued to play. Daenerys made another crown of flowers and placed this one on Sansa's head, yet Sansa never missed a string. Slowly the melody came to an end, with Jaenara's return home, the end was peaceful, but not a victory, the music ending on a calm but sorrowful note.

Sansa noticed that Daenerys had tears in her eyes. "What was that called?" Daenerys asked, "It was beautiful."

"The flight of Terrax." Sansa answered in High Valyrian, she then reverted to Westrosi common. "Have you rested long enough, Khaleesi?" She asked. She caught Viserys smile at the question, he understood what she had done.

Daenerys smiled, completely oblivious to the fact that Sansa had just insinuated that the only reason that they had stopped was because Daenerys needed a rest. Sansa nodded, she carefully packed away her harp and sitting blanket and re-mounted her horse, as the Khalasar entered the Dothraki Sea Viserys smiled beside her.

"My Queen." He whispered.

~~/~~


	12. Part 11: Arya

Part 11: Arya

Arya frowned as Robb and Jon fussed over the arrangement of where people stood, they had been planning the King's arrival for weeks, yet the closer King Robert got the more irritated Jon and Robb seemed to become. Arya was excited, she had been allowed to wear her painted leather armour and her weapons. Robb had argued for her to be permitted to wear the armour, Father had been against it at first, partly as it was heavily painted with Dothraki symbols, both for protection, and marking her as a Khalakki of the Great Ver. Father had wanted her in a dress, but Robb had argued that it was dishonest and a compromise had been reached: Arya had to wear a dress to supper, but could wear her armour and weapons during the day. Arya was happy to have Frostbite on her right hip and her orvik (whip) on her left hip, she knew they were putting on a show for the King, but hopefully she wouldn't be forced to take them off after the King left, she just needed to prove that she could be responsible with them. She was beyond pleased to have her zhavorsa bone kohol (dragon bone bow) on her back, but the way Robb and Jon were fussing over every tiny detail was starting to worry her. The kohol (bow) was one of the six that had been gifted by Illyrio, each of the Stark children, including Jon and Theon, had one on their backs, and a quiver of arrows to go with it. The furs on Arya's shoulders were styled differently to the ones that Father and her brother's wore, Madatti had styled them to lace up at the side, leaving her left shoulder relatively clear to make it easier to use her kohol and orvik. There was an arm hole in the right side, meaning that she wouldn't have to throw it off in heavy combat, unlike her father and brothers. The fall of the cloak also hindered an opponent with a whip from snatching away her blade. Her gloves were the softest doe skin, and her knee-high boots were decoratively painted and the toes polished to glistening.

Lady was on her right and Nymeria on her left, Alys, Jorelle, and Mya all stood behind her. Alys and Jorelle had an iron sword, a orvik, and a kohol, each wore painted leather armour. (Jasatti, whom had painted the armour, said that the symbols on their armour showed that they were part of Arya's Khas, and their roles within it.) As well as the armour Alys wore a fur lined cloak with the white sun on black of her House emblazoned on the fabric, Jorelle simply wore a black bear skin over her armour. Mya was dressed differently, she did not have leather armour, or a cloak, she had a long black double quilted gambeson, sturdy pants, and fur-lined boots to help keep her warm. Her gloves were undyed wool, but well made, old Nan had knitted them for her. Mya wore sword, orvik, and kohol, just like Arya, Alys, and Jorelle, but unlike Alys and Jorelle Mya's bow was zhavorsa bone (dragon bone) and was the sixth of the ones gifted by Illyrio. Alys seemed very put out by Mya getting the superior bow, which was silly, considering Alys had only started training with a bow in the last year, and Jorelle preferred melee weapons. Mya deserved the better weapon because she was more skilled with it.

Bran stood to the left of Arya, beside Nymeria, even though Arya was older Bran was a boy, and so got to stand closer to Father, he was also dressed in painted leather armour, with an iron short sword on his hip, his zhavorsa bone kohol was his only other weapon as he had no skill with the orvik, his furs were cut like Father's, but shorter. His direwolf, which still didn't have a name, stood on his left. Robb was to the left of that, his iron sword was an unadorned longsword. Robb wore a dark grey gambeson under a coat of plates. He wore a steel gorget, with twin facing direwolves emblazoned on it and steal shoulder guards and vambraces. His freshly cut curls rested on his carefully brushed grey furs over his shoulders. Robb also had no interest in the orvik, but he wore his kohol (bow) proudly. To his left was Grey Wind.

Beside Grey Wind stood Father, in full armour with the Valyrian longsword, Ice, on his back and his helm under his arm. The Armour was well worn, scratched, and dented, but his furs had been brushed until they shone. His gorget was identical to Robb's, but his furs were longer and thicker. To Father's left stood Ghost, then Jon. Jon and Robb were almost dressed identically, but Jon's gambeson and furs were black where Robb's were grey, Jon's hair was longer and his curls were tighter, and his armour was not adorned with direwolves. Jon and Robb's swords were identical, and Brans was a shorter version of the same style. Theon's sword was identical to Jon and Robb's as well, was that intentional? As well as sword and kohol Jon sported an orvik, his orvik was longer than Arya's, but then he was also taller. (But not as tall as Robb.) To Jon's left stood Kraken then Theon.

Theon's armour was different, a chest plate and shoulder guards over heavy wool, a Kraken inset into the centre of his chest. He wore thick black leather gloves, leather pants and high boots with metal plates inserted around the knees. The armour was typical of the Iron Islands, and designed to be worn on ships, apparently one of the rules on ships was no loose clothing or cloaks. His iron longsword was identical to Robb's and Jon's. He had a nasty looking curved knife on his belt which he had won off of one of the guards that had returned from Essos in a game of dice. (Arya believed he had cheated.) He wore black furs around his shoulders, identical to Jon's, and a heavy gold chain around his neck.

A horn blast sounded, then another. "The King is coming!" Somebody yelled as a third horn blast was heard.

"Look sharp," Father bellowed. "Straight lines, you're solders, stand proud."

Arya was nervous, excited, impatient, and curious all at once. She didn't want to stand and wait, she wanted to run to the stables, saddle Blacksword, and ride out and meet them. But she remembered her lessons, both from Maester Luwin, and from her Dothraki teaches, and stood her ground. As the Lady of Winterfell she had initially feared that she would be expected to entertain the Queen and her daughter, she had assumed that she would be forced into a dress and relegated to sewing in the corner the entire visit. Instead they had spent the four weeks leading up to the King's arrival planning combat and riding displays. Father seemed more than content to show off Arya's skills with horse and bow, and Zhowi and Zirqi had spent log days helping Arya plan out a number of displays, all of which Father had given approval for. It hadn't been quite that easy to escape her role as Lady of Winterfell though, Arya would have to wear dresses at supper, and there had been as many hours of dress fittings and complaining as there had been of training in the last four weeks. Old Nan had found some pretty dresses, if slightly old-fashioned, tucked away somewhere and Madatti and Jeyne Poole had helped alter them to fit Arya's skinny frame. The dresses were beautiful, but that didn't mean Arya wanted to wear them.

Arya abandoned her wandering thoughts as the visitors finally poured through the gates like an invading army, hundreds of them, covered in gold and finery, golden banners caught the wind, each with the black crowned stag of House Baratheon. It vaguely reminded Arya of the time that Illyrio had visited, when she was four, showing off his wealth as if riches were all that made a man. But Arya knew better, she preferred cold steel to gold and furs to silks. Arya liked the plain black, grey, and white of House Stark, they were true colours. Gold only had value because people believed it did, but steel's value was in the quality of the crafting, Mikken had taught her that. The King somehow seemed to be an exception to the golden monstrosity of the rest of the caravan. He rode a heavy war horse, about the only animal able to carry him in his heavy, double plate armour. The armour was not shiny and new, it was the same armour that he had worn at the Trident, one of the steel antlers was damaged from where he had fallen, injured, after killing Prince Rhaegar, the armour had dents and scratches, just like Father's. Real armour was made to be used, Ser Rodrick had taught her that.

Prince Joffrey rode behind King Robert, on a much smaller horse, and in much lighter armour that had never seen a scratch, even on the training field. The Crown Prince was short and slim of build, with golden hair. He wore a padded doublet (far too short to be called a gambeson) with a shield embroidered on it, the shields arms were divided down the middle, with the crowned stag of House Baratheon on one side and the Lannister lion on the other. Surprisingly his blade, a cut down longsword, had a lion's head pommel on it. Everything about him was golden.

Arya was still trying to decide what she made of the Prince as the King dismounted. The King was taller that Arya had expected, and his shoulders were almost as wide as Hodor's! He must have been at least six and a half feet tall and the antlers of his helm brought him to over seven feet, everything about him was immense, even his war hammer was huge, it looked heavier than Arya herself. The King removed his helm and pressed it into the hands of one of his Kingsguard, the guard was tall, although not as tall as the King, he was older and his hair was grey, but he still looked strong, Arya thought the guard's eyes looked sad.

"That's Ser Barristan Selmy." Mya whispered quietly. "King Robert is the third King he has served, they say he spars with the King almost every day… They say he used to spar with Prince Rhaegar as well, and that he is as good, if not better, than Ser Arthur Dayne was."

Arya nodded, being in the front row she couldn't really respond, but she appreciated Mya's efforts. Mya had been to King's Landing years ago, when Yohn Royce had been presented with the sword known as Lady Forlorn. As the King approached Arya pushed the thoughts aside, she needed to pay attention. The signal was quick and simple, a sudden twitch on the index finger of father's right hand, had her eyes been less sharp she might have missed it. She knew he would be doing the same with his left hand as they had practiced this many times over the last week. The front line all managed to kneel as one, the rest of the courtyard quickly following their lead. King Robert strode towards Father confidently, for a second or so there was absolute silence, then the King signalled Father to stand, Arya and the others remained kneeling.

The King seemed serious for a moment as he looked Father up and down. "Your armour has dents in it." He muttered.

Father raised his eyebrows at that, the King's armour was more dented than his was, Mikken had given Father's armour many repairs over the years. King Robert laughed a bellowing laugh and embraced Father fiercely. "Always so serious." He muttered, he signalled for everybody to stand, then turned his attention to Jon. "Is this the one you named after me? He's got the look."

"No, your grace." Jon replied quietly, lowering his gaze. "I'm the one he named after Lord Jon Arryn." A muscle in Jon's jaw twitched as if the comment had upset him

King Robert frowned and looked at Father in question. "I..?"

"This is my white wolf, Jon Snow, although he seems to prefer black, and you will remember my iron wolf, Theon Greyjoy, your grace." Father said quietly, gesturing towards Theon. "My grey wolves are to my right."

"So they are." King Robert agreed, he seemed to truly notice that the direwolves were not just hounds. "Do you always have to be so literal, Ned?" He turned his attention to Robb. "So, you're Robb?"

Robb nodded. "Yes, your grace, and this is Grey Wind." Robb patted Grey Wind's head.

King Robert nodded and moved along the line. "And you?"

"Bran, your grace, Brandon." Bran answered hesitantly.

"And the wolf?" King Robert prompted.

"Direwolf," Bran whispered softly. "They're direwolves… your grace, not wolves… I haven't named mine yet."

"Hmph." The King replied. "I'm shit and naming pets too, show me your muscles." He instructed, Bran did his best, but he really didn't have muscles, his was skinny and scrawny, hopefully when he got older he would start to bulk up like Father.

The King then moved to Arya and frowned, looking confused. "Sansa?"

Arya shook her head. "No, your grace, Sansa lives in Pentos, I'm Arya, and these are Nymeria and Lady."

"Oh," The King seemed genuinely surprised that Sansa wasn't there. "Nymeria…? Why, you are an odd one, how old are you, nine?" He asked, frowning.

"Eleven, your grace, I'm just small." She felt like the King was inspecting her, evaluating her, that made her nervous, and when she was nervous she tended to speak. "These are my handmaidens, Alys Karstark, Jorelle Mormont, and Mya Stone."

"Mya Stone." The King repeated.

"Yes, your grace." Arya nodded.

King Robert seemed to pause for a second, his gaze straying to Mya, he took a half step, as if going to walk over to her, then brought his attention back to Arya. "That's a nice looking sword, do you know how to use it?"

Arya smiled. "Yes, your grace, Ser Rodrick says I'm a natural, I can also shoot a bow from horseback better than any of my brothers."

The King seemed impressed by that. "You can shoot a bow from horseback?" He asked.

Arya nodded. "With the right saddle, yes."

"I like you, you remind me of your Aunt Lyanna." The King said, he seemed a little sad, but the moment was quickly broken when Queen Cersei exited her carriage, her daughter and younger son not far behind her.

The queen looked more beautiful than any woman that Arya had ever seen, more beautiful even than Allyria had looked when she had come to choose her stallion, but there was something empty about the Queen's eyes. Ser Jamie, was just as handsome, the twins both had green eyes, like emeralds, and hair like spun gold. It was easy to see that Princes Joffrey and Tommen, and Princess Myrcella all took after their mother. Another carriage pulled up and a much younger woman with dark skin, like nothing Arya had ever seen, stepped out. She was a different type of beauty, strange and exotic, five children between the ages of three and seven were with her. Things quickly became tense between the two women.

"Who's that?" Arya whispered to her handmaidens.

"The King's mistress, Yaya." Jorelle replied.

"Shocking." Alys muttered. "Simply shocking."

Suddenly another thought occurred to Arya, she frowned and looked around. "Where's the imp?"

~~/~~

Arya's dress was a mix of grey and white velvet, plush and soft, with intricate detailing on the bodice. Arya hadn't worn a dress in years, and she felt strangely naked in it, even though she was fully clothed. Madatti had altered the dress for her, and it had passed Old Nan's inspection, but that didn't mean that Arya was happy with it. It was too thin, for one, even with the stupid underskirt she would freeze on the way to the Great Hall, or she would have if they hadn't wrapped her in a large blue woollen cloak than smelt musty, like it had been locked away in a box for twenty years. Old Nan had done her hair, and when Jory Cassel came to collect her he froze at the sight of her.

"I look stupid, don't I?" Arya muttered.

Jory shook his head. "No… you look like… that cloak was your Aunt Lyanna's, and that's exactly how Old Nan used to do her hair… I… thought I was seeing a ghost for a moment there." He gently pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair for her. "You look beautiful."

Arya clutched the cloak to her in surprise and turned questioning eyes towards Old Nan. "Lyanna's?"

"The dresses were Lyanna's when she was younger as well." Old Nan answered plainly. "Where exactly did you expect me to find a new wardrobe for you in four weeks, child? Now go, don't keep the King waiting."

Arya nodded and she, and her handmaidens hurried towards the great hall with their escort. King Robert wasn't waiting, however, he was arguing. The King had insisted that his Mistress, Yaya, and her children attend the feast. The decision had caused dis-order and there had been some hasty re-arranging. No matter what was suggested Queen Cersei was not happy: she couldn't believe that Yaya and her children were being allowed to walk in with them, she couldn't believe that Yaya's children and Jon were to be allowed to sit with _her children_, she couldn't believe that Arya's handmaidens were to be included, especially Mya, whom she referred to as _'a lady's maid, not a handmaiden'_… she couldn't believe that the direwolves were permitted to join them… Eventually Ser Barristan firmly, but politely, reminded her that they were guests at Winterfell, and suggested she suspend her disbelief. King Robert's words were far less kind, but finally an order was agreed upon.

Ser Barristan and Ser Jamie entered the Great Hall first, then Queen Cersei with King Robert on one arm and Father on the other. Robb, Grey Wind and Princess Myrcella came next, Myrcella seemed afraid of Grey Wind, yet Grey Wind had been nothing but good. Nymeria, Arya, and Prince Joffrey came behind them, then Alys and Jorelle, then Mya and Lady. Alys would not handle the direwolves and Arya felt closer to Nymeria than to Lady.

Then came Bran, his direwolf, and Prince Tommen, they were followed by Theon and Kraken. Behind that came Ghost, Jon and Lady Yaya. Chatlala Waters, who was seven, came next, she had the same dark skin, hair and eyes as her mother, all of Yaya's children did. Lala did not seem as scared of the direwolves as Myrcella was. After that came Lala's brothers, Arryn and Xala'xama, who were six and five respectively, then came Lala's two younger sisters, Cassandra and Steffony, who were four and three. Four more royal guards made up the rear in two sets if two.

Finally everybody was seated, the formalities were addressed and then the feast began. Prince Joffrey was arrogant and rude, and very disgruntled about having been forced to walk behind Myrcella for once, and the more he talked the less Arya liked him. Tommen was worse, he was quiet and shy, and clearly afraid of his older brother, he didn't talk at all. Tommen kept glancing over at Arryn and Xala'xama, who were laughing and playing with Bran, Tommen seemed to want to go join them, but it was clear that he wouldn't be allowed. Lala and Myrcella seemed to both have doting eyes for Robb and after an hour or two of watching them Arya had watched more than enough, in an attempt to relieve the tension she loaded up some peas (now cold) on a spoon and flicked them in Lala's direction, Lala laughed and threw a piece of parsnip at her, before long both girls were laughing and chasing each other around the table.

Suddenly Jon was there, scooping her up into the air. "That's enough, don't you think?" He asked, he was trying to be serious, but there was the beginning of a smirk on his lips.

Jon had been sad for weeks, ever since he had learnt the truth of his mother… whatever that may be, there was no way that Arya was missing this opportunity to make him smile, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and started peppering him with kisses.

"Arya, Arya stop." Jon muttered, seemingly embarrassed.

"Make me." Arya replied and continued to drop kisses here and there.

Suddenly there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, one that she hadn't seen in over a month, and he started to tickle her. She laughed and squirmed out of his arms and he laughed as well, a real laugh. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and raised his eyebrows at her. "Right, shekhikhi, bed." He instructed.

Arya pouted and looked towards Father at the top table, but Father simply nodded in agreement, the King and Queen were also watching, King Robert looked amused but Queen Cersei was frowning.

"Wild little thing, isn't she? I guess that's what happens when you don't have a mother." The Queen muttered loudly.

Robb, who had risen from the table to usher Bran to bed stopped and turned to face the Queen. "I'm sure you would know, your grace, you were seven when yours died, yes?"

The King roared with laughter. "I like him, Ned, you did right naming him after me."

Queen Cersei looked angry, but that wasn't fair, she'd been the one to start it, why did she have to be so rude and mean? "Why are you so mean?" Arya exclaimed.

"Arya!" Ned exclaimed, rising to his feet. "That's enough."

"But she is mean!" Arya protested. "She's been nothing but mean and nasty since she arrived."

Suddenly Jon was kneeling in front of Arya, between her and the Queen. "Arya," He said very softly. "The Queen is not mean, she's sad. She's had a long journey, to a place far colder than she is accustomed too. She is tired, and there are people here, including me, that she doesn't want here. Watching you run around and laugh with children that are her husband's, but not hers, cannot make her happy. Please, just apologise."

Arya looked at Jon's pleading eyes, then at her father, whom looked nervous, she then looked at Queen Cersei, the Queen's jaw was ridged, her lips thinned in anger. "I'm sorry that you're sad, I'm not sorry for playing with Lala, or for having all of my brothers here, but I'm sorry that you're sad. I'll let Jon take me away now." She wrapped her arms around Jon's neck and held on tightly as he stood, lifting her up, she quickly wrapped her legs around him, burying her head in his shoulder.

"Well, that was almost an apology." Jon muttered, he started walking, but Queen Cersei called out to him.

"Stop." Arya looked up and saw that Queen Cersei was standing now. Jon gripped her tighter as the Queen rounded the table and approached, the hall growing quiet. "Sad that I get more kindness from a bastard than the rest of the room combined," She said haughtily. "Let me look at you." Before Jon could say anything queen Cersei's long fingers were wrapping around his jaw, forcing him to look at her. "Dark hair, dark eyes, so much Stark in you, but what else?"

Jon held the Queen's gaze. "It doesn't matter, does it?" He replied.

"You look quite a lot like Allyria Dayne, you have those same strange dark grey eyes, your long face is Stark though. I think Ashara is your mother."

Jon's arms tightened even more around Arya and his jaw clenched for a moment, then he forced it to relax. "With respect, you may believe as you wish, your grace. Believe my mother was a direwolf, or a weirwood, if it pleases you. Now, I either need to get Lady Arya to bed or put her down, do you wish to keep watching her play with Lala?"

"No." Cersei replied.

"Then perhaps you may wish to release my face." Jon suggested, Cersei immediately pulled her hand away. "Thank you, your grace."

"You are a brave bastard, aren't you?" Queen Cersei challenged.

"Speaking of bastards," King Robert interjected. "Mya Stone, come here."

Mya stood and slowly approached the table. "Your grace." She said quietly, head bowed and eyes lowered.

"Stand up straight." King Robert commanded. "That is not how a Baratheon stands."

Mya straightened and met his gaze. "I am not a Baratheon, I'm a Stone, your grace." She answered calmly, but there was a flicker of… something… in her eyes.

King Robert nodded. "True, but you are my daughter, my firstborn, I acknowledge you and give you permission to wear the House sigil reversed, a golden crowned stag on a black field." He sent a glance to Lord Stark then looked at Mya again. "Wear it under a direwolf if it makes you happier."

Mya nodded and bowed. "Thank you… your grace."

King Robert nodded. "Mya… I will make time to speak with you while I am here."

Mya nodded. "Yes, my King." She said softly. "If you will excuse me, I must attend Lady Arya." She placed a hand on Jon's shoulder, urging him to walk. They exited the hall quickly, Nymeria, Lady and Ghost followed without being called and Alys and Jorelle weren't far behind. Once they were outside of the hall and halfway across the courtyard before Jon put Arya down. Arya noticed with shock that his hands were shaking.

"Shit," Jon muttered. "That wasn't fun."

"Jon, what's wrong?" Arya hugged him tightly and he hugged her back.

"The Queen." Jon whispered. "I… I didn't like that."

"Jon!" Robb called out, Arya looked across the courtyard and say Robb striding over, Bran and their direwolves behind them. "Gods, Jon, are you alright?" Jon nodded weakly and Robb pulled him into a crushing embrace. "Stay away from her, Jon." Robb whispered. "Gods, I thought… stay away from her Jon."

"I'll try to." Jon agreed as Robb let him go.

Robb nodded, then turned his attention to Mya. "Well, that was eventful, are _you_ alright?" Mya's nod was as unconvincing as Jon's had been, causing Robb's expression to soften. "Mya, he acknowledged you."

Mya nodded, then the first tear slid from her eyes, Robb's arms were around her in an instant. "Shhh, people are stupid." Robb said quietly. "Your name doesn't change who you are, even if he had naturalised you, it wouldn't change you, you'd still be the kind, sweet, horse-loving person that I respect and admire."

Mya nodded and pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "That's not why I'm crying." She said quietly. "It's…"

"Finally knowing." Jon finished for her.

Mya nodded. "Yeah."

Arya didn't know what to say or do, she wanted to comfort Jon, but didn't truly know why he was upset. She wanted to comfort Mya, but she was confused there too, surely finally knowing the truth was a good thing? Robb seemed upset too, scared even, and that just made things even more confusing.

Jorelle cleared her throat. "Mya, I don't think we need your help tonight, why don't you talk with Jon for a while?"

Mya gave Jorelle a thankful smile and turned towards Arya. "My Lady?"

Arya hugged her fiercely. "Will you still be my handmaiden?" She asked, Mya nodded. "Good, go talk with Jon, I'll see you tomorrow… we can talk to Madatti about getting a proper cloak made for you in the morning."

"No, I'll make it." Alys said quietly. "I have a couple of ideas, but we can talk about it over breakfast."

"Lady Alys…" Mya seemed surprised by the offer.

Alys shook her head. "It's the least I can do after how I've treated you, I… I was taught that names matter, and they do, but I still haven't been fair to you. I'm glad you've been acknowledged, I understand why Lord Stark has done so much for you now, I'm sorry for being so jealous."

Mya nodded and bowed deeply to Alys. "Thank you." She said quietly, then turned towards Jon.

Arya watched as the two of them started walking towards the stables, Ghost beside them, Jon would help her… and maybe she would help Jon? Who would help Robb?

~~/~~


	13. Part 12: Barristan

Part 12: Barristan

Ser Barristan Selmy had seen many castles, keeps, and fortresses, he'd even broken into a couple (and out of a couple more) over his fifty-odd years. He had been young when he had killed Maelys the Monstrous, yet age had not withered him. He had served three Kings, 'The Sickly', 'The Mad', and 'The Usurper', and could no longer remember the face of the woman that his Lord Father had intended him to marry. He could remember Ashara Dayne's heart shaped face though, her violet eyes, her smile… If only he had bested Rhaegar at Harrenhal, if only Ashara had been crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty, not Lyanna. If only he had been bolder… or maybe less bold?

If he had been less bold he would not have donned armour and competed as a mystery knight at the age of 10. He would not have caught the attention of Prince Duncan. If he had been less bold he would not have unhorsed Prince Duncan, Ser Duncan the Tall, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard six years later at Kings Landing. If he had been less bold during the war of the Nine-penny Kings he would have followed his father's wishes and stayed at Harvest Hall, then somebody else would have chased down Maelys, and likely been appointed to the Kingsguard, not him. If he had been less bold he would not have rescued King Aerys from Duskendale, and the Realm might be better off for that. But if he had been bolder the Kingsguard vows might not have restrained him, as they had not restrained Prince Lewyn Nymeros Martell, whom had retained his Paramour. If Ashara had returned Barristan's affections then Jon Snow might be _his son._ If he had been bolder he might have ignored the Kings messenger that had called them back when they were halfway to the Trident, leaving Rhaegar undermanned, but he had not. The men he was leading had never come to Rhaegar's aid, and by the time they returned to King's Landing Lannister men already controlled the streets.

Two and a half score of years left a lot of room for regrets, but regrets were in the past, and time only moves forward. 'If only' was an intoxicating poison, stronger and sweeter than Arbor gold, yet his mind wandered to the past as he took his first steps on Northern soil. He had travelled four of the seven kingdoms greatly, but had never stepped foot in The Vale, and, until they had reached The Neck, he had never touched foot on Northern soil, his feet had only touched the Iron Islands for war. Now every step forward brought him closer to Winterfell, closer to Ned Stark, and closer to the bastard boy that he both did, and did not want to meet. Ashara's boy… he had to be. If he wasn't Ashara's boy then why had Lord Stark permitted her baby sister to choose a Dothraki stallion? Ser Barristan had never met young Allyria Dayne, but he was told she had much of her sister's beauty. Allyria had missed out on the eyes, though, half the Dayne's did. Young Edric Dayne had been lucky, he had the violet eyes, and Ser Arthur's fair hair, Ashara's heart shaped face… had he not been born after Ashara's death it would be easy for Ser Barristan to imaging that he was Ashara's boy, not her nephew. Barristan wondered how akin Jon Snow and Ned Dayne looked? He would see with his own eyes soon enough… too soon. Every moment brought them closer to Winterfell, closer to truths that Barristan would prefer to ignore.

The Neck itself had seemed a land all of its own, and once it had been, the Kings Road was well maintained, but not well used, the Crannogmen preferred to travel by boat. The marshes and trees were full of eyes, Ser Barristan had seen them and listened in disappointment as others commented that the place was empty and inhospitable. The Crannogmen were quiet and reclusive, secretive and careful, they did not trust strangers, and they did not rush out to greet their King. It made Ser Barristan ponder what strange power the Starks must wield to make these secretive people rise up to a Direwolf's howl?

Ser Beric Dondarrion, one of Prince Joffrey's retinue, had seen the eyes in the reeds and trees, and so had his squire, young Ned Dayne, that gave Barristan hope that some young men still knew how to use their eyes. Neddy was an interesting lad, much like his uncle, and Barristan trained with the boy every opportunity that he could, which wasn't often. The boy had potential to become the next Sword of the Morning, but many are born with great potential… Prince Rhaegar had the potential to be a great king, and even King Aerys had been full of promise prior to the Defiance of Duskendale.

The Neck felt old, the trees were older than castles, and taller too, their roots dug deep into the mire, how deep did they go before finding purchase? How much deeper into the dark earth did they sink once that purchase was found? The answers to those questions seemed beyond Barristan's contemplation. He had thought that when they exited The Neck the past would not weigh so heavily upon him, but he had been wrong. They had stepped out of the suffocating marshes and onto firmer ground, but even with open sky above the past weighed heavily on Ser Barristan. '_The North Remembers.'_ Ser Barristan had always believed that saying to be a reflection of its people, but, now that he was here, it seemed that the North itself remembered. Every hill, every tree, every stone seemed heavy with echoes of the past. The tricking waters whispered it, and the old towers of Moat Cailin screamed it. REMEMBER! REMEMBER! REMEMBER! No wonder the Andals never stood a chance here.

They had stopped at Moat Cailin for a day, having been offered shelter in the partially completed new keep, with the drunken tower glaring down at them. It would take decades of work to repair the old towers, if it could be done at all, but the new Keep had been under construction for over two years. They had started by digging and building a system of moats and dams to dry out the ground so deep foundations could be laid on sure ground. The labyrinth of waterways would likely also become part of the Keeps defence. The King's Road, which had once gone through the middle of Moat Cailin, was now diverted over a series of strong bridges, far from the locations of the future walls, and vulnerable, exposed to archer's attack. There was no way to get the wheelhouses in, and Queen Cersei was very displeased at having to walk through muddy paths and cross a dozen different bridges by foot.

It was said that twenty towers had once stood here, maybe more, but only three remained, yet the draining of the ground had found old foundations and plenty of rock to build from, it was said that in some cases there were two or three levels of the old towers still intact, and strange items had been found, weirwood bows engraved with old runes, cashes of dragon glass arrow and spear heads, glass candles, and much more that the men would not speak of.

Some of the men were Crannogmen, others appeared to be from House Stark, House Manderly, and other parts of the North. The build was being overseen by Howland Reed and Wendel Manderly, and two more mismatched men you could not find. Howland looked just like every other Crannogman in attire, only the lizard-lion belt buckle gave away that he was somebody of importance, he was short and slim, and wiry. A bronze knife hung at his belt, but he carried no sword, he was a humble and quite man who looked as if he could step into a marsh and disappear at a moment's notice.

Wendal Manderly on the other had was tall and wide, loud and boisterous, proud and joyful. His head was balding, but the huge 'walrus' moustache made it look as if all of his hair had simply migrated to his face. It was possible that he was more round than he was tall. His clothes were well made, and of reasonable quality, but stained. Yet the two men seemed to work well together. Ser Barristan had assumed that Moat Cailin was being rebuilt for Lord Stark's younger son, but the two Lords had been quick to correct him.

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell." Howland had declared gravely.

"We prefer to keep an heir and a spare there as well, to be honest." Wendel had added with a chuckle and a smirk.

Howland had ignored the big man's attempt at humour and continued to explain. "Lord Bran will remain at Winterfell until Lord Robb has sired a son or two, that's how it has always been, Moat Cailin is being rebuilt for Jon Snow."

"Jon Snow?" Ser Barristan had questioned in surprise. "And you are giving up lands for this? Does that not concern you?"

Howland Reed had smiled at that. "I would not expect you to understand, Ser Barristan, I…"

"Howland swore an oath." Wendel explained, it was the first time that Barristan had seen the man take anything seriously since their arrival. "Robb Stark will have many bound to him when he is Lord of Winterfell, myself among them, but Howland Reed is bound to Jon Snow."

Ser Barristan shook his head. "How…?"

"It was the end of the war," Howland Reed replied quietly. "Lord Stark had a sister to bury, a new King to negotiate terms with, and a new born babe to protect, and get safely home to Winterfell. I could only assist him with one of those tasks, would that I could have aided with more."

Barristan nodded. "I swore my Kingsguard oath to Ser Gerold Hightower, while King Jaehaerys bestowed the white cloak upon me… I understand oaths." He responded.

Howland Reed paused and cocked his head at that. "Do you? Rhaegar could have used you at the Trident."

It was odd, if Barristan had been at the Trident Howland would have been his enemy, yet Howland seemed to be reproaching him for failing his Prince. "Rhaegar was not the king." Barristan replied quietly, but he knew, if the Kingsguard had come to Rhaegar and said that they would back him against his father Rhaegar would have been King, or King Regent at least… perhaps they could have stopped the madness? If only Barristan had been bolder.

~~/~~

Ser Barristan had decided that the Kingsroad in the North was some of the best (and safest) road in all of Westeros, a compliment to the efforts of Lord Stark, for sure. Even with the two large, groaning, wheelhouses they reached Castle Cerwyn with reasonable speed. Medger Cerwyn, put himself, and his own family, into the servants quarters to accommodate the King and Queen, but he was at a loss as to what to do about Lady Yaya and her children. Yaya was gracious and offered to stay in her wheelhouse, if only baths could be arranged.

There was no big feast, and Queen Cersei complained about both the accommodation and the food, they ran out of wine and she complained about that too, yet Barristan noticed that although the guests were given meat and wine, Medger Cerwyn and his people only ate pease porridge and leek soup, and only drank watered down mead. They were not a rich House, and as such, were not provisioned to accommodate a royal visit. Ser Barristan chose the soup with a thick crust of buttered bread, Ser Beric and Ned Dayne chose the pease porridge… yes, the boy had potential.

The next day they made the final push to Winterfell, King Robert was impatient and pushed them to go faster than they should have, the wheelhouses screeching and groaning like stranded Leviathans, suddenly Queen Cersei's wheelhouse threw a wheel and poor princess Myrcella was on the side of the road, losing her breakfast, while a dozen men tried to fix it. Prince Joffrey decided to help by laughing at her, but Ned Dayne quickly got her some water to wash her mouth out and let her lean on him as she walked back to the wheelhouse.

Soon after, Winterfell came into view in all it's cold grey glory, it was easy to believe that **_this_** had been built by the same builders that had built Storms End and the High Tower, the same builders that had built the Wall. The Starks were no less majestic, or grim, than their home, it only took a glance to see that Lord Eddard was doing his best to communicate a strong visual message. There were actual direwolves, albeit young, the Seven only knew where he had found four grey direwolves, a white one, and a black one. Had he gone beyond the Wall for them? Yet he had a direwolf to represent each of his children, including his ward. Although he had four grey direwolves to his right he only had three children there – one of the girls was missing, and from what Barristan had read about the descriptions of the Stark children, the missing girl had to be Sansa… that wouldn't bode well.

It was widely known that Sansa had been permitted to go to Pentos with her mother when she was younger, but King Robert had been of the assumption that the girl would have well and truly returned by now. It had been King Robert's intent to wed Sansa to Prince Joffrey, he had been so focused on the idea that he likely didn't even know that the other girl (Arya if Barristan recalled correctly) existed. And this was no southern girl in a pretty dress…

She stood like a soldier, hands loose and ready, her eyes seemed to take in everything. In the moment that their gazes locked he felt as if she was evaluating him, she was just a girl, and a scrawny one at that, yet the Warrior had clearly placed his strength and courage into her. She had an elongated short sword with a handle carved of Weirwood, a whip, and a bow of rare dragon bone, she wore painted leather armour and high boots, her furs were cleverly crafted.

Behind her stood three warrior-maidens, all older than her, two of them had armour consistent with hers, each had an iron sword, a whip and a bow. One maiden's armour was different, as if she held a lower social rank, yet her bow was dragon bone, the young woman seemed familiar, an instant later Barristan realised that it was Mya Stone, that was intriguing... He brought his attention back to Lord Stark and his King.

The young man to Lord Eddard's left had to be Jon Snow, at a glance he seemed to look more like a Stark than the young man on the right, but first glances can be deceiving. Jon had the colourings of a Stark, dark hair, grey eyes so dark as to almost be black, but Robb had the build, the height, Jon was surprisingly short and narrow… Robb had his father's shoulders and chest, Jon had the long face, but there was something a little too delicate about it, both lads had curls, but Jon's were far tighter, he was slender and his movements were more graceful, there was just something… The furs at his shoulders were black, and near identical to the furs of the Greyjoy ward. That was surprising, wouldn't white furs be more consistent with the message Ned seemed to be attempting to deliver? But then, if he was to be given Moat Cailin he would have a name one day. Were they already calling him Jon Cailin, or was Ned simply preparing the way for it?

Maybe the black furs were why King Robert got it wrong?

There were plenty of other visual cues that had been painstakingly put into place to help Robert get it right: Robb's gorget had direwolves on it and Jon's was unadorned. Robb was on his father's right, Jon was on the left. Robb's direwolf was grey, Jon's was white. But despite every visual cue, King Robert got it wrong. Jon seemed almost offended, Robb did not. If anything Robb seemed amused, he did not seem threatened by Jon in any way. That was more than could be said about Princes Joffrey and Tommen. Arya not being what King Robert had expected, and not being Sansa, threw the King as predicted, but he recovered well. Then Cersei was there, and so was Yaya, and it was all just a mess again. Of course, instead of helping keep peace, King Robert demanded to be taken to Lyanna's crypt immediately, that only escalated things even further.

"The dead can wait." Queen Cersei had argued. But whilst the dead may be patient, the King was not.

A couple of quick words between Lord Stark, Robb and Jon, then Robb was approaching the Queen and offering her his arm, leading her one way, and Jon was approaching Lady Yaya, offering her his arm and leading her in the opposite direction. Ser Barristan was impressed at the smoothness with which the lads handled it. Yet later, when all were bathed and changed, no arrangements could please Queen Cersei. Ser Barristan understood her being upset about Yaya's presence, but that wasn't a matter than Lord Stark had any control over, it was _Robert_ who had insisted that Yaya and her children would walk in with them. Just as it had been _Robert_ who had insisted on the inclusion of Arya's warrior-maids, likely due to Mya being one of them. Maybe it was over a moons turn of watching Cersei tear down every Lord who had put a roof over their heads? Maybe he was just tired? Maybe he was getting too old for all of this? But, whatever the reason, something in him snapped, and he made a comment to the Queen that was less than polite. He was ashamed of that, especially as the King feed off of the action, but the words could not be retracted.

~~/~~

The Stark children (and Lady Arya's warrior-maids) were impressive, as were their horses. They had spent the last week doing weapons and riding displays. From mounted archery to formation jumping, to horse dancing (yes, horse dancing), to whip displays, it was all so _foreign_! There were a handful of Dothraki women at Winterfell, they had come back from Essos with Sansa's former guards, yet these few women had made a huge cultural impact on House Stark, it seemed even the servants knew a few Dothraki phrases.

One event that had truly impressed had been the 'whip dancing', four people cracking whips rhythmically whist a fifth danced around them and tried not to get hit. It was a test of observation, speed, and agility. Neither of the Stark boys had participated in the display, and both Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow had been noticeably absent. Prince Joffrey had laughed and clapped when a whip had caught Jorelle around the ankles and pulled her down, but she had regained her feat, the whips had restarted, and she had completed the dance. She'd limped for two days afterwards, but it was still very impressive. Days passed, Lord Eddard still refused to be King Robert's hand, stating that his children, and the North, needed him here. Robert still believed that Ned could be persuaded. Robert wanted Sansa sent for and brought back to Westeros, he was still convinced that she and Joffrey should marry. Ned admitted that he had sent a party for her a moon ago, after receiving news of Catelyn's death, but that he hadn't heard anything from them yet.

Robert made no attempts to be subtle about his mistress and Cersei's growing rage could only be matched by Ned Stark's growing embarrassment, Ned Stark was almost relieved when Robert suggested a hunt, at least he was until he realised that Yaya would be joining them. The King insisted that Robb, Arya, and her maidens attend as well, and Prince Joffrey… the King had never invited Joffrey on a hunt before and Barristan could only conclude that in absence of Sansa the King might attempt to wed Joffrey to Arya.

Ser Barristan wasn't so sure how the wild little wolf would react to that?

~~/~~


	14. Part 13: Neddy Dayne

Part 13: Neddy Dayne

A low fog hugged the ground and distorted the sunrise, making the fields look as if they were covered in a haze of blood as they rode out for the hunt. Ned Dayne shivered, and reminded himself that he did not believe in omens, yet as he looked up at Prince Joffrey's back the Crown Prince seemed to be bathed in a halo of blood. Neddy shivered again and brought his horse closer to Ser Beric's.

"Easy lad," The young knight cautioned. "You feel it too, don't you?" Neddy nodded and swallowed hard. "This is no day for a hunt, but the King will not hear it, so don't waste your breath. Keep your wits about you, this is good weather for an ambush. Your eyes won't serve you, use your ears."

Neddy nodded and studied the features of the man that would one day marry his aunt. "Death is coming." He said quietly.

Beric nodded. "The Stranger always enjoys a good hunt, I just wonder who the prey is?"

"Superstitious nonsense." A female voice interrupted them.

Neddy turned his head and found himself looking into the eyes of the Black Bear, Jorelle Mormont. She wasn't pretty, but she was proud and fierce. He gave her a gentle smile and nodded. "I hope so, my Lady, I hope so." He replied courteously.

Jorelle gave him a confident smile. "It is no more than fredri, the sound of a horses hooves on dirt, and to talk of it is fredrik." She said with confidence.

"Fredrik?" Beric asked with curious amusement. "Is that a Dothraki insult?"

"It is whatever you take it to be, Ser Beric." Jorelle replied and then turned her stead back towards her lady, making the fredri of her horse as loud as possible as she did so.

"Lady Stark's black bear is an interesting one." Beric muttered quietly, "As is her golden stag, I do not know what to make of the Lady Karstark yet though, do you?"

Neddy frowned, he looked towards Lady Alys, intent on studying her, but his attention was drawn by the rose shaped moonstone on Lady Arya's sword. His thoughts strayed to his aunt, Allyria, or more importantly to the rose shaped moonstone pendant that she always wore. It seemed a strange coincidence, mayhap there was a deeper meaning?

They spent the next while discussing Lady Arya's maidens and the differences of the North. This was one of the things that Neddy loved about being Beric's squire, he was always being pushed to question his perspective. The ways of the Stormlands and the Kingslands were different to the ways of Dorne, and the ways of the North were different again, it was a good lesson for a man that would one day be a Lord, and a good distraction from his sense of foreboding.

An hour later the fog had lifted but Neddy's sense of ill ease had not, two hours later a fine table had been set for all to break their fast, yet Neddy found he could not stomach any of it, three hours later a rider came riding their horse so hard that the fredri of its hooves was deafening, and Neddy thought the poor beast's heart might explode. He watched as Lord Stark read the note, as he paled and his hand clenched into a fist… Neddy watched as the King snatched the note away and read it himself. Where Lord Stark's face had gone pale, the King's went red with rage.

"I'll kill every damn Targaryen I can get my hands on!" King Robert roared.

Moments later Lord Robb was at his father's side, the dutiful son was permitted to read the note. He looked to his father, then the King. "This is best discussed in private." He said quietly and handed the note back to his father. Lord Stark nodded and turned his back on the raging king.

Until that moment Neddy hadn't though Lord Robb to be so much like Lord Eddard Stark. Jon Snow was, dark hair, dark eyes… Jon's eyes were darker than Lord Stark's though, they were a deep blackish grey, much akin to Allyria's eyes. Neddy chased the thought aside, even if Jon Snow was his cousin it would never be acknowledged, he returned to studying Lord Stark and Lord Robb. Father and son moved almost as one towards their horses, matching wide shoulders held proud and angry, matching grim, yet guarded, expressions. Neither stopped to ask the King's permission, neither looked back to see if he was coming. The direwolf, Grey Wind, moved with them. Lady Arya, having seen the commotion, brought her two direwolves, and three maidens ('Shield-maidens' Ser Barristan called them) around and wordlessly fell in with the rest of her pack.

Prince Joffrey quickly made his way towards his father. "What's going on?! How dare they leave without permission?!" He demanded.

"The hunt is over." The King replied coldly.

"Why?" The young prince demanded.

"Because I said so!" King Robert declared and turned his back on the lad.

Neddy couldn't help but feel some compassion for the young prince, he had spoken so boldly the night before about the hunt to come, he had been so proud to finally be invited on one, even if _women_ had been invited as well. Prince Joffrey had been determined that he would make some great kill that would make his father proud, but now that chance was being snatched away from him. Clearly something was very wrong, but the young prince couldn't see that, he could only see how the situation impacted him. Prince Joffrey came towards him and he attempted to think of something kind to say, but the opportunity never came.

"Why are you just standing there?!" The Prince snarled at him. "You heard the King, the hunt is over, get my damn horse."

"Yes, my Prince." Neddy agreed, he bowed, then turned to retrieve the animal.

Servants were left behind to clear everything away whilst the main party rode back to Winterfell at speed, the Stark's ahead of the Royal party, and the sense of ill-omen that Neddy had been feeling only grew.

~~/~~

The courtyard at Winterfell seemed almost peaceful as the Stark's dismounted and horses were passed into the hands of grooms, Lord Stark gave orders to a couple of guards, and one of them took off at a run, then King Robert was dismounting and striding towards Lord Stark.

"I'll give you ten thousand men, just bring me back the heads of those two damned Targaryen's." King Robert declared.

"No." Ned replied. "Only a fool meets the Dothraki on an open field, even a hundred thousand wouldn't be enough."

Suddenly Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy were rushing towards them, their direwolves at their sides. Jon's haunting dark eyes seeming almost to go black with concern. "What's going on?" Jon asked.

"Sansa." Lord Stark replied, he then passed the note to Jon.

Neddy watched as Jon read the note, then re-read it, he then passed the note to Theon. "The wording is awfully familiar." He advised Lord Stark.

"Familiar to what?!" The King demanded.

Jon froze, then turned slowly, almost as if he had forgotten that King Robert was standing there. He took a deep breath, then straitened his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. He was still over a foot shorter than the King. Jon had to tilt his head upwards to look Robert in the eye, yet look him in the eye he did. This brave bastard… there had to be some Dayne in him. "To the wording of the note that Uncle Brandon received many years ago, your grace. The note was intact and recovered amongst Uncle Brandon's things, along with his body, after the sack of King's Landing, Maester Luwin still has it." He turned his attention back to Lord Stark without waiting for Robert's response. "I would be interested to see if the handwriting matches."

"What are you sug-" The King started to ask, but suddenly he was cut off by a boy's scream, then the sound of something soft crashing into something hard with great force. A moment later a direwolf let out a mournful howl and ravens rose up into the air screeching and circling a narrow tower near the centre of Winterfell, one of them almost seemed to be crying "Corn.".

Man, woman, and direwolf alike burst into a run to see what the commotion was. They found the twisted body of Lord Bran at the base of the tower and for an instant Neddy thought the boy was dead, then he saw his chest rise and fall. Lord Stark was on his knees beside his youngest son in an instant, soon the Maester was there, and others. Neddy started to look at the expressions of the people around him, all were looking down at the heap of a boy on the ground, all but Lady Arya, who was looking upwards.

Neddy couldn't say if Lady Arya moved first, or if one of the direwolves did, but suddenly the three were moving towards the tower, when had she drawn her blade? The wolves quickly outpaced her and rushed ahead up the stairs, one of the Dothraki women, the scary one that was good with a whip, was following her, and then Ser Barristan, suddenly the King himself was in on the chase! Neddy would have followed, but his duty was to Prince Joffrey.

The minutes seemed to pass like hours, then suddenly there was yelling and growling, a woman screaming and the sound of metal on metal. Two half naked figures, a man and a women, were eventually dragged from the tower, the King was dragging the women by the hair and the man had a red ribbon of blood slowly flowing across his chest, a shallow cut, but a cut all the same. Ser Barristan suddenly had an extra sword on his hip, golden with a lion's head for a pommel. The king dropped the woman on the ground, golden curls spilling into the dirt, and guards quickly surrounded her. It took Neddy a minute or more to reconcile that the two naked people were Queen Cersei and her twin brother, Ser Jamie. By then words like treason and incest were being thrown around, and the King was questioning if any of Cersei's children were actually his. Ser Jamie was begging for Queen Cersei and her children's safety and offering to take the black, he was seeming quite contrite… and then he'd found another's sword, and his feet, and was heading for the King. Ser Barristan cut him down with his own blade, a fatal blow this time.

Then Cersei was screaming and hurling insults at the King, telling him how inadequate he was and how much she hated him, telling him that all her children were Jamie's… that the King had gotten her with child but once, and Jamie had found a woman to 'cleanse' her.

"No." Joffrey started to scream. "No, take it back… I am not Uncle Jamie's… my father is not the Kingslayer, he is the King! Take it back!"

But the King looked at him with cold eyes and shook his head. "I should have known you were not my son. How could I have produced a son like _you._"

Others were trying to talk and calm things down, Lord Stark was still on his knees on the ground, beside his broken boy. Direwolves were howling and Cersei was shrieking and screaming, half the Keep was out watching the show by now. Neddy watched in stunned silence as Joffrey unsheathed his sword and rushed the King, then suddenly a blade was sticking out of Joffrey's back at an odd angle and blood was blossoming out around it, the point of the sword was aimed skywards. The blade was withdrawn and a haze of blood surrounded Joffrey like a halo, then he slumped to the ground, leaving a stunned little girl standing between him and the King.

Lady Arya looked at the dead body seemingly as shocked that she had killed him as anybody else was. Her stance was sideface, left foot forward. Because she had aimed the sword upwards blood had dripped down the blade, over the guard, and onto her arm. The spray of blood as she had withdrawn the blade had splattered her from head to toe, anointing her in blood. She seemed suddenly pale as she looked at what she had done.

"Arya." The word was a breath of grief out of her father's mouth, a gust of wind, loud against the sudden silence of the courtyard. The crows had even stopped streaking, the direwolves had become still.

Somehow Cersei was suddenly free of her guards and launching herself at Arya, screeching like a banshee…

A raven screeched. "Corn!"

A whip cracked, extended like a black serpent, and coiled around her slender throat. The hand that held the whip jerked backwards with a sudden motion, causing a sickening cracking sound. The snap of her neck could be seen even from where Neddy was standing. Her eyes bulged for a moment, her hands gripping at the coils of braided leather before slumping to her sides. The arm moved again, seemingly on instanced, and the whip flicked free. Long fingers wrapping the whip back up with a practiced, almost unconscious motion. One the whip was returned to the hip the welder became suddenly still, the black whip sitting neatly on a belt hook, against a black coat of plates. The black coat of plates covered a black gambeson, an unadorned gorget rested at the neck, a black wolf pelt on the shoulders. Tight black curls adorned the fur, Jon Snow. Jon and Arya were almost mirrors of each other, dark hair, grey eyes, long faces, fine cheekbones, slim narrow frames. Both looked equally shocked at their own actions.

Arya turned to face the King. "I…"

"You did good." King Robert asured. "Would that I could make you a Kingsguard."

Arya nodded. "I just stuck him with the pointy end." She said quietly, it was clear that she was going into shock.

King Robert nodded and turned his attention to Jon. "I could make you one, I appear to have a position available." Jon froze at the offer, even seeming to forget to breathe.

"No." Lord Stark pushed himself to his feet and quickly moved himself between Jon and the King. "Jon will have Moat Cailin, when he is ready for it. He will marry, and have heirs of his own."

King Robert nodded and seemed to accept Lord Stark's answer. "Would you have me name him Jon Cailin now?" The offer seemed genuine.

Lord Stark shook his head. "When he is ready for it," He replied. "Winter is coming, he may very well prove worthy of another name before winter's end."

The king nodded. "Some bastards do." He agreed. "But he doesn't need to be a bastard, Ned, if you want it I could name him Stark."

Jon seemed to re-find himself at that, he stepped out from behind Lord Stark's shadow. "I am not a Stark, your grace. If you will excuse me, Lady Arya's sword needs cleaning, it is our way to do such things at the foot of the Weirwood. It is her first… her first. I would like to ensure that this undertaking is done correctly. He placed a hand on Arya's back and gently led her towards the Godswood, three direwolves trailing behind.

"Robb, go with them." Lord Stark instructed.

"But Bran…" Robb started to protest.

"I'll stay with Bran, Jon and Arya need you right now." Lord Stark replied.

Robb seemed conflicted but nodded. "Grey Wind, stay with Father." Robb commanded, stroking the direwolf's fur. The direwolf seemed to understand and took a place on one side of Bran's body, Bran's direwolf was on the other. Kraken, Theon's direwolf, seemed to give Theon a questioning look then curled up at Bran's feet.

As Neddy scanned the wider crowd he realised with horror that sweet Myrcella and gentle Tommen had seen it all. Seven have mercy, what would happen to them? He shared a look with Ser Beric and they moved as one towards the two children, taking up a silent guard on either side. Eventually Lord Bran was moved, with great care, and the bodies were taken out of the courtyard. The King finally seemed to see Myrcella and Tommen and started walking towards them.

King Robert looked at them carefully then shook his head, he turned his attention to Ser Beric. "I want them out of my sight." He instructed.

Ser Beric nodded. "Your grace, what will happen to them?"

King Robert looked at him with unseeing eyes. "Take them to an orphanage or something, they are not mine, they are bastards, and orphans now. May the gods have mercy on them."

Ser Beric nodded. "Neddy, get our things and pack our horses, we'll take them somewhere further south, they don't belong in the North." The King nodded and walked away. "Six horses, two with food and blankets." Beric said quietly. "It's a long trip to Blackhaven."

"And further still to Starfall." Neddy agreed. "I think Myrcella would like Dorne."

Ser Beric nodded. "Safer if we split them up."

So, that was the plan then, Beric would find a home for Tommen and Neddy would find a home for Myrcella, they could work out the finer details as they travelled. Allyria would know what to do, she always did. Neddy placed a reassuring hand on Myrcella's arm then went to prepare for their journey as Ser Beric led them out of sight of the King.

~~/~~


	15. Chapter 14 - Tyrion

Part 14: Tyrion

Tyrion was starting to believe that perhaps three was his lucky number. He was the third child of Tywin and Joanna Lannister, a fact that brought him little joy, but he was also the third person to attempt the rebuild of Summerhall. Tyrion was well aware that he had been offered the opportunity through no merit of his own, King Robert saw him as a sorry misshapen thing. No, Tyrion had been made the Steward of Summerhall to remove him from court and spite his father. Luckily spiting Tywin Lannister was something that Tyrion Lannister was quite accomplished at. Tywin had, of course, taken away every copper of support when Tyrion had been appointed to the roll, claiming that the King's purse should meet his needs well enough if the King wanted to make a Steward of him. Houses Swann and Buckler had been smarter, Tyrion might have lost his Lannister guards and privileges, but he had gained true Stormland men in return. He had been permitted to keep his custom fitted armour.

The fallout between Tywin and Robert had been slow and bitter, much like the fallout between Aerys and Tywin. The first stirs of disenchantment had started when Jon Arryn had resigned as Hand of the King. Tywin had clearly expected to be elevated to the roll in Jon Arryn's place, yet Robert had appointed Stannis instead. At the time the Crown had been somewhat in the debt of Lannister gold (something which was no longer the case) and thus susceptible to Westerly influence. Tyrion had however quietly observed as the Lannister claws were carefully pried free of the crown one by one. One by one each of the Lannister men were carefully removed from court, until even Cersei's own guards were replaced by Stormlanders. Tyrion had been the last to be removed, being given the task of rebuilding Summerhall. But, instead of rebuilding, he'd started digging out the ruins of the great hall, searching for dragon eggs. It had taken three moons to find the first egg, silver, with a streak of gold, this was most likely the egg that had once belonged to Elaena Targaryen. Tyrion had secured the site and ridden as hard as his deformed stature would permit to King's Landing, where he had presented Robert with the egg. Robert had warmed to him after that. After the second egg Robert had even been kind to him. After the third egg Robert had promised him the right to choose one when he was done, now wouldn't that irk Tywin?

Tyrion hummed as he made his way to the Summerhall Godswood, it had taken him months to find a bard that would teach him the song, but he had learnt it quickly enough, that should make _her_ happy. He reached a small clearing with a couple of misshapen oak trees twisting together in the centre. Some royal gardener had clearly taken great care when the oaks were saplings, but over two-score years of neglect had left them unravelled and wild, like a half-finished tapestry. Tyrion looked around, but there were no signs of _her_, there never were, despite her misshapen form she was quiet as a ghost. Tyrion shrugged, cleared away some acorns at the base of the trees, sat down, and started to sing. "High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts, the ones she had lost, and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most…"

The wind rustled the leaves in the trees, almost as if the Godswood was singing with him, he never heard her approach, never knew where she came from, but soon enough a gnarled old woman with a gnarled old cane was standing in front of him. The woman was both an albino and a dwarf, in her youth she might have stood three foot tall, but she was so far stooped over that she barely reached two and a half foot now. Her hair was white and thin, limp with lack of care, her eyes were red and piercing, her lips thin and cracked. But her smile, that smile was worth the cost, and the work, of learning the song.

"You found it," She whispered when he had finished singing. "You found my Jenny's song."

"Yes." Tyrion replied. "How did I do?"

"Not half as sweet as Rhaegar, did you bring food?" The old woodswitch asked. Tyrion nodded and held out a small bundle, the old woman snatched it out of his hand with surprising speed then sat some distance away to examine her prize, long knobbly fingers pried open the knots in the fabric and shaky hands pulled out bread, salted meat, and a small wedge of cheese. She hunched over and started eating, becoming almost animalistic in her protection of the food. When she had finished she glared at him with those beefy read eyes. "More." She snarled.

Tyrion shook his head. "No, I have given you a song, _Jenny's song_, I have given you bread and salt, now I need something in return."

"I'll give you a vision." The woodswitch responded.

Tyrion raised his hand and shook his head. "A curse, more likely, no. All I want is a memory, a memory of that day, the day that Rhaegar was born."

"No!" The woman hissed. "No, I have gorged on grief, I need no more from you."

"You promised." Tyrion replied calmly. "You swore by wood and water, stone and earth, you promised me that if I found Jenny's song, and brought you food, you would tell me."

"Wine!" The old hag snarled.

Tyrion removed a full wine skin from his belt. "That, I can accommodate." He tossed her the wine, keeping his distance, and settled back to listen. He had learnt his lesson on getting too close, her nails still scared his neck from when she had attacked him.

It was a long while before the old woman started to speak, her words were halting at first, but as she talked about Aegon and Jaehareys, about Duncan and Jenny, about the betrayal of the Maesters, it all started to fit together. Tyrion was shocked to learn that it had actually worked, they had hatched dragons, and then the 'accident'. The witch hadn't foreseen that. Some of her words were whispers, some of them were sobs, sometimes she only spoke in riddles. She talked of golden stags and white wolves, spoke of death as if it were a child. But Tyrion sifted the words between the words, and those words told him there were many more dragon eggs to find. Those words told him the eggs could be hatched. But they also told another secret, two children had been born during the tragedy of Summerhall, not one. Jenny had birthed a dark haired daughter with violet eyes. _Ashes child_, the old witch called her. The Ashes' child had as much claim to the throne as anybody, or would have if she'd been born a boy. Aerys had wanted the girl killed, Jaehareys wanted her betrothed to Rhaegar, but Ser Duncan the Tall had stolen her away. That was Ser Duncan's great betrayal, he had saved an innocent babe and spirited her away, but where? Ashes, ashes… Ashara? Could it be? Ser Duncan had always had an affinity with Dorne… but what did that mean if it was true? Nothing, it meant nothing now that Robert was on the Iron throne.

Tyrion sifted through the old woodswitch's other words, looking for clues as to where to search for more eggs, they were there, like a great puzzle that needed solving. It was late by the time Tyrion left the Godswood, late and dark. He pondered the old woman's words as he walked. He hummed as he made his way back in to the far wing of the keep, the least damaged section, maybe if he truly pleased Robert he could push for two dragon eggs? No, that was an unlikely dream. As he ate a late supper he fantasied about how his life would improve, Tywin would have to acknowledge him as the heir once he was gifted a dragon egg, surely? Jamie was a Kingsguard and Cersei was a woman, Casterly Rock was Tyrion's by right, and he'd be damned if he was letting Tywin take it from him. Double damned if he was letting it go to Uncle Keven, or his fool of an heir, Lancel. That night as he pondered greatness and drifted off to sleep a thought occurred to him, a thought of a woman with dark hair and violet eyes. Ashes, ashes… Ashara. But his mind soon became occupied by dragon dreams, and come morning the thought was lost. Weeks passed and the thought never returned, a fourth dragon egg was found, and then a fifth. Now and then Tyrion would return to the Godswood, sing to the old witch and give never food and wine. But his questions were always focused on his own gain, he never asked about the ashes child again and the woodswitch never spoke of her either. Five moons later, when Tyrion was suddenly summoned back to court, the ashes child was all but forgotten.

~~/~~


	16. Chapter 15 - Jon Snow

Part 15: Jon Snow

Jon noticed another spot of blood behind Arya's left ear, gods, they'd already tried to clean her face three times, but every time she turned her head he saw more blood. "You need a bath." He muttered, he trailed his fingertips through the water of the black pool, trying to make the action seem as casual as possible, then touched her face gently, he tried to remove the spot of blood without drawing attention to it, but it would not budge. "Maybe we should just throw you in?" He asked with a half-hearted smirk.

Arya didn't react to the comment as she usually would, she wasn't cheeky or playful, she didn't threaten to pull him in with her or say she'd jump in if he jumped first, she simply shrugged and continued to clean her sword… the sword was already clean. He shared a concerned look with Robb over Arya's head. His little sister had taken a life, gods… He knew she wasn't really his sister, she was his cousin, but over the last few weeks he had discovered that learning the truth of his parentage hadn't changed much, he had been raised as a brother to her and she would always be his sister. That was a stunning revelation. Robb, Bran, _and even Theon,_ would always be his brothers… Ned Stark would always be his father… even if he was still hurt by the deception, he was starting to understand the reasons _why_. He could still remember the precise moment when Robert had looked straight at him and offered to make him a Kingsguard, still feel the air sucked out of his lungs in that heartbeat before Father had moved himself between them.

_"No." Lord Stark pushed himself to his feet and quickly moved himself between Jon and the King. "Jon will have Moat Cailin, when he is ready for it. He will marry, and have heirs of his own."_

Jon took a shuddering breath, given who he was, _what _he was, did he have the right to marry? What if the truth of him came out? What if his children, or his children's children, were used to justify a war? Maybe he should just take the Black? Serve at the Wall like Uncle Benjen? Moat Cailin should be for Bran… if he lived. No, Jon couldn't think like that. Bran would live, Bran HAD to live! Jon turned his thoughts back to King Robert. He couldn't believe that the King could be so cold to Joffrey, especially when only minutes earlier Joffrey had been believed to be Robert's son and heir. Jon hadn't _liked_ Joffrey, but he still felt sympathy for him, King Robert had been cruel. Jon worried what would happen to Myrcella and Tommen now? They were innocents, but the King seemed unpredictable in rage… no wonder Father had never dared tell him the truth. Jon had only known true fear a few times, but he was afraid of King Robert, in the quiet under the Weirwood he could admit that.

Arya finally stopped running the cloth over her blade and put it way, she leant into Jon and he put his arm around her, dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You did well," He whispered. "Jonquil Darke couldn't have done better." Jonquil Darke had been appointed the female protector of Queen Alysanne Targaryen almost 250 years earlier, and had been part of the group that had visited Winterfell. There were very few writings about her in the Winterfell library, but Jon knew Arya had read each of them many times. Jon could have compared Arya to warrior queens, such as Nymeria or Visenya, but given that she had blooded her blade protecting a King the comparison to Jonquil seemed more apt.

"I don't like him." Arya whispered softly. Jon frowned and blinked in confusion at the sudden words.

Robb, also clearly confused, touched Arya's shoulder gently. A brief, but reassuring action, before voicing the question on the tip of Jon's tongue. "Don't like who?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, almost as if he feared the answer.

Arya chewed her lower lip and frowned, she was quite for a long moment, her gaze on the black pool in front of them. "The King." She finally whispered. "I don't like him. I mean… I didn't exactly like Joffrey… but… how could he..?"

"Arya, you shouldn't say that." Robb hissed fearfully. "Don't ever say that, least it be mistaken as treason."

Jon however was not so quick to hush Arya. He shook his head, frowning at Robb over Arya's head. "She has a point though, doesn't she? How could King Robert be so cruel to somebody that minutes earlier he had believed was his blood?" Jon challenged.

Arya nodded. "Yeah, how could he… do that?"

Robb let out a heavy sigh. "Arya… Jon… I don't know. I don't know, but it's not safe to say that. Arya, please promise me you will never say that again."

Arya pushed herself to her feet, anger in her flinty grey eyes as she looked down at Robb. Nymeria and Lady moved with her, Nymeria faster than Lady, and Ghost picked up his ears from where he was laying under the Weirwood. "Why shouldn't I say that?!"Arya yelled. "I'm not a liar! Don't tell me not to speak the truth!"

"What if the truth could get you killed." Jon asked, he reached out a comforting hand and ran it through Nymeria's fur. "What if the truth could get Father killed? Or Robb? Or me? Sometimes there is honour in a lie."

Arya turned on him with all of the snarling venom that he had moments earlier aimed at Robb. "When?!"

"When you are protecting somebody you love." Robb answered. "If the truth would get you killed and lying would save you, I would lie, so would Father, so would Jon."

"No! Father would never lie!" Arya argued.

Jon shook his head sadly. "He already has. He doesn't like it, but he's lied. Not often, and only for good cause. He can likely count all the lies he's ever told on one hand, but Eddard Stark has told a lie or two."

"When did he lie?" Arya demanded.

Jon gave her a bitter smile. "When he told Sansa I wasn't the reason your mother left." He replied sadly. He looked down at his hands, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'm the reason you never had a mother, I'm the reason you don't have a sister, I'm the one that should have been sent away, not Sansa."

Arya flung her arms around him, climbing into his lap. "Don't say that, don't ever say that!" She peppered his cheek with kisses but that only caused more tears to flow.

Jon hugged her fiercely, burying his teary face in her shoulder. "But it's the truth." He whispered. "I'm not a liar, why shouldn't I say it? It's true." He knew he was turning her earlier words against her, and that he should feel guilty about it, but he didn't. He needed to protect her, needed her to understand, had to drive the message home. "You know it's true. If I wasn't here then your sister and mother would be, your mother might still be alive."

Arya was quiet for a while, she hugged him tightly, rubbing his back. When she did speak again her voice seemed very small. "Maybe it is true, but it doesn't need to be said… maybe not all truths need to be said?"

Jon pulled back and looked at her, studying her face carefully. "Is omitting a truth the same as telling a lie?" He questioned. It was an interesting question, one that he had been asking himself for weeks now, had Eddard Stark actually lied? Had he ever outright called Jon his son? Arya frowned at the question, her expression changing from confusion, to conflict, then finally resolution as she puzzled her way to an answer. Gods, she was only eleven, that was a complicated question to ask an eleven year old. "Is not speaking a truth the same as speaking a lie?" Jon pushed.

"No." Arya finally answered. "No, it's not the same."

"What if not speaking that truth leads to people believing a lie not spoken?" Jon pushed. "What if not saying that you don't like the King leads to people believing you do like the King?"

Arya frowned again. "I…?"

"It's not the same." Robb reassured. "People believe stupid things all the time, not your job to correct them."

"People are stupid." Arya agreed.

"Sansa is stupid." Robb muttered. "Stupid and stuck in Essos, trapped in Khal Drogo's Khalasar."

At the mention of Khal Drogo's name Arya's hands became completely still. She looked up at Robb with her soft grey eyes, opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again without a word. With careful hands she pushed herself to her feet, her grey eyes hardening in resolve, their changing colour seeming to suddenly become that of fresh forged steel. "Khal _Drogo_." She whispered. "Khal Drogo will claim the silver haired moon daughter, and their legacy will be the stallion that mounts the world. I… there is more to it, Jeshi knows the full prophecy. We need to talk to Jeshi and Zhowi… we need to stop the Stallion from being born!"

"Arya, you're not making sense." Robb protested, but Arya was already making her way back to the Keep, all Robb or Jon could do was follow.

~~/~~

When Arya found Jeshi she started to talk in rapid Dothraki, too quick for Jon to understand all of it, Arya had spent more time with the Dothraki than most, and had picked up the language more easily than he had. Jon made out some words, he was surprised when Arya address Jeshi as Khalakki, Princess, he heard the words Dosh Khaleen and Vas Dothrak… and something about a prophecy… then Zhowi, who was seldom far from Jeshi's side, was there and they were looking for Father… Uncle… _Father_.

Eddard Stark was with Bran, Maester Luwin and Old Nan were there as well, all looked serious and sad, and suddenly Arya's sense of urgency was derailed. Maester Luwin said that Bran would never walk again… that the next few days would tell them more. Arya nodded and offered to sit with him for a while, and told Father that he needed to talk with Jeshi about Khal Drogo.

Jon offered to stay as well and Jeshi, Zhowi and Robb left with Father and Maester Luwin to discuss the matter. Bran's direwolf, still unnamed, climbed onto the bed after they had left, and Lady climbed up beside him. Nymeria and Ghost took up places on Bran's other side. Jon and Arya pulled the two large chairs from beside the fireplace and placed them near the bed. They sat in silence for hours and eventually Jon drifted off to sleep.

It was dark outside when Mya's hand on Jon's arm gently woke him. A blanket had been placed over Arya and she was softly snoring in the chair beside him.

"Shh, don't wake her." Mya whispered. "You've missed lunch and supper, I brought some food."

He gave her a sad smile, at once thankful for her kindness and devastated by it. Would she still treat him with the same kindness if she knew the truth? How could he tell her that they were third cousins? How could he tell her that his father had run off with her father's betrothed… that her father had killed his father and stolen his crown? He couldn't. '_Rhaegar may have sired me, but Eddard Stark is my father.'_ He told himself. _'My mother may have given me a different name, but I am Jon Snow of Winterfell.'_

He took the offered food and signalled to the doorway, she nodded and they moved into the hallway, Ghost folling quietly behind. They sat on the ground, near Bran's door and talked quietly.

"How is she?" Mya asked.

Jon shrugged. "She took a life today, how should she be?"

Mya gave him a sad smile. "You took a life too."

Jon nodded. "But I'm not eleven, besides, I was protecting my sister."

"And she was protecting her King." Mya replied. "But it doesn't matter, we will have war now, Tywin Lannister will never believe any version of events that isn't to his liking. Lord Stark will have to go to King's Landing now, as will I."

Jon shook his head. "No, if he goes anywhere he will go to Essos, to get Sansa… but he can't leave Bran, not now."

Mya looked down at her hands. "The King has ordered it." She whispered quietly. "He is giving Lord Stark two weeks for Bran to recover, then we must go to King's Landing with him, Lady Arya as well. Jory, Zhowi and a handful of others are going to Essos. They are going to try and sneak into Vas Dothrak with a trading caravan and steal Sansa back…"

"I should go with them." Jon muttered. '_Maybe I can talk some sense into Viserys? Maybe if I tell him he's my uncle…?' _He thought. "I need to..."

He started to stand but Mya caught his arm. "Eat first," She said quietly. "Empty stomachs lead to poor decision making."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Dothraki proverb?"

Mya shook her head. "Andal actually, it was one of Lord Arryn's sayings, part of his argument that ensuring the poor have enough food is important."

Jon nodded and took a few reluctant bites of food, he soon realised that he was hungry and ate some more, before he knew it the plate was empty. Mya took the plate from him and gave him a gentle smile. "Lord Stark should be in his solar, I'll stay with Lord Bran and Lady Arya." She touched his shoulder gently, then stole into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

~~/~~

Mya had been correct, Eddard Stark was in his solar, but so were the King, Ser Barristan Selmy, Jonothor Darry, Maester Luwin, Robb, Theon, Jory, Jeshi, and Zhowi.

"Jon." Eddard greeted softly.

"Lord Stark, Your Grace" Jon replied formally, giving a bow towards King Robert. Prehaps the formality wasn't required, but he needed them to understand that he was serious. "I have a request to make." All eyes turned to him and he was given the nod to continue, it took every ounce of courage not to shrink from King Robert's gaze, those blue eyes seemed almost to be boarding into Jon. '_You can only be brave when you are afraid_.' Jon reminded himself. He focused all of his attention on the man that until recently he had believed to be his father and forced himself to speak in a calm clear voice. "I wish to go to Essos, to help retrieve Lady Sansa."

Lord Stark's refusal was immediate, his expression careful and guarded. "No, Robb needs you here. I am to go to Kings Landing to take up the role of Hand of the King."

Jon rallied himself to push the matter. "With all due respect, Lord Stark, Lord Robb does not need me. Lady Sansa needs me, I beseech you, let me do this in your name… in the name of the North… let none doubt where my loyalties lie."

"Jon…" The older man took a step closer and placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "You are my blood, nobody doubts you."

"Then let me help my blood, let me talk with _my blood_ and see if this can be resolved peacefully. You already have a war coming, you do not need another."

There was a flicker of understanding in Eddard Starks eyes, Jon was sure that his double meaning had been understood. Jon scanned the room and found that Ser Barristan was looking at him intently.

Ser Barristan cleared his throat, a tactical move to gain attention before he started speaking. "Viserys knew me when he was a boy… perhaps, if the King permitted, my presence might help."

King Robert nodded. "Let the lad go, he has proven capable, if you allow Jon to go I will give you Ser Barristan as well, and Ser Jonothor."

Eddard looked from the King to the two knights then back to Jon, his stony grey eyes showing nothing of what was going on behind them. The silence drew out and Jon suddenly realised that he was holding his breath, waiting anxiously for an answer, any answer. Finally Eddard gave a short sharp nod and Jon was able to expel the breath that he had been holding. "You will leave within the hour, there will be no goodbyes. You will carry no sigils, and nothing that speaks of where your loyalties lie. You will travel in secret… you will go via Moat Cailin and collect Howland Reed, you will not kill anybody unless it is absolutely necessary. You will arrange your own passage, and likely have to work for it, I will give you what money I can, but use it sparingly, you will need it for the escape. If anybody doesn't like these rules… don't go."

"I would ask one goodbye, to Arya." Jon said quietly.

"The lad's got spirit, I'll give him that." King Robert muttered.

"Wolf-blooded."Eddard muttered. "But less so that Arya, I'll permit it." He returned his attention to Jon. "Robb will bring her to you, be quiet about it and pack light."

Less than an hour later Jon was riding south towards Moat Cailin, Ghost at his side, Father had argued that decision, but Jory and Ser Barristan had both backed him. Ser Barristan kept giving him strange looks and Ser Jonothor would not meet his gaze, but he would have to worry about that some other time. They bypassed Castle Cerwyn, a detour, but the less people that knew where they were going the better. They rode all night and partway through the morning before stopping, they slept for a few hours under some bushes near the side of the road, then set off on again just after midday.

~~/~~


End file.
